Angel of Massacre--and Sweets?
by Nuggyy
Summary: By chance, Rachel Gardner meets a Serial Killer in the alley. Wishing to die, she accepts her fate as one of his victims.. However, he doesn't kill her. Unwilling to commit suicide, Rachel searches for Zack-her one chance of death.. and finds him in a cafe. Yet the cafe is far from normal. The workers all hide dark secrets, and in exchange for their service, hold the right to kill.
1. Chapter 1 - Everyone's a Little Crazy

A furious fist caused Rachel's small head to snap to the left, leaving a stinging sensation on her cheek. Her mother towered over her, eyeing her like defenceless prey. Rachel kept her head down, expecting more. However, her mother dropped to her knees, and began to sob.

"Oh Rachel, oh Rachel!" She cried, voice raspy and resentful. "Look what you've made me do! You and your father… have made me into a horrible mother!" _The only person to blame is yourself._ "I don't want to hit you, Rachel, but… you leave me no choice! Such a horrible, despicable child must be punished…"

Rachel didn't respond. She kept her eyes aimed at the ground, at the bottles of alcohol littered across the ground.

"It's your fault… you look so much like _him—_ like your _father!"_ Rachel's mother slapped her again, the impact causing Rachel to tumble backwards. For such a willowy woman, Rachel's mother was sure strong.

"Why don't you acknowledge me? I'm talking to you, Rachel!" Her mother yelled. "Don't make me hit you _again_." Rachel slowly turned her head and met her mother's eyes. She found her mother repulsive. She wasn't the mother she desired.

"I am sorry." Rachel mumbled. Her mother wasn't too impressed, but it seemed to be enough.

"Get out of my sight, you _disgust_ me… _Devil's Spawn_." Her mother demanded, as she turned away from Rachel and made her way into the kitchen.

Rachel felt relived. The less time she had to spend in her house the better. The alleys were more comforting than her place. The alleys were her home. Rachel quietly walked to the front door, and dropped to the ground as she put on her oversized boots. They used to be her mothers, but her feet were much larger than Rachel's.

Rachel was often described as a "doll". Although many would consider that as a compliment, Rachel resented herself for it. She was pitifully tiny, standing at just five feet tall. Her features were quite small as well, especially her hands. But Rachel considered that an asset. Smaller, more nimble fingers allowed her handle a thread and needle easier.

Another reason people called Rachel a "doll" was her inability to emote. Her parents—and many others would comment on how "dead" her eyes looked. Rachel did not understand them. How could her eyes look "dead" when she was very much alive?

She was just about to open the door when it shot open, hitting her in the process. As a result, the door ceased, and a familiar voice cursed.

"The fuck are you doin' in front of the door?" Her father yelled. Rachel scrambled to step back, but her father just pushed harder on the door, knocking Rachel back onto the floor. Angrily, her father stomped towards her and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt.

"Don't stand in front of the fucking door again, you're the last thing I want to see when I come home, you brat." He threatened, breath reeking of alcohol. "Now, scram!" He let go of Rachel's collar, and she quickly scrambled out of the house. It was about six P.M., and since it was mid November, it was already dark out. Not to mention, cold. Rachel decided she would head to a cafe and work on some homework.

Despite warnings from her father, Rachel walked through the alleyways instead of sticking to the main road. Apparently, some bodies were found in the depths of some alleys nearby. The murders were thought to be the work of the "Psycho Killer", a blood-crazed psychopath who killed at random, without remorse. The police had been trying to catch him for years, without success.

However, Rachel decided to take her chances. She knew the alleyways like the back of her hand, and she was confident in her ability to survive… Not that she held much importance in surviving, anyways. Although she wished for love and happiness, Rachel did not hold much hope in her family changing. At times, she found herself longing for death…

But suicide was _unforgivable_ in the eyes of God.

Zack bent over his _prey_ , holding his scythe above his head.

"Please, _please_ don't kill me!" His em _prey/em_ —a young woman begged. Zack smiled in ecstasy, relishing over the fear in her eyes. She squirmed pathetically under him. Escape was futile, and she should have realized that.

"Yes, _yes_! Show me _more_! _Fear! Despair! I want_ ** _more_** _!"_ Zack screamed, spitting at her pitiful face. As expected, the girl's face contorted more, and tears flooded her face. "Beg, and plead for your pitiful life!"

"Please, _please_ let me go… I don't want to die, please let me go!" The girl screamed. "Y-you're… you're a _monster_!" Zack's smile died. He strengthened his grip on his scythe and began to swing down.

"NO—" Before the bitch had a chance to scream, Zack's scythe destroyed her face, instantly killing her. Blood spattered everywhere, and with inhuman strength and speed, Zack repeatedly swung his scythe into the woman, mutilating her body.

" ** _Don't_** _call me a fuckin' Monster_!" Zack screamed.

Zack felt the warmth and wetness of her blood on his face and body through his bandages. After about ten swings, he stopped, panting, and shakily rose to his feet.

He looked down at his prey, and felt pleasure in how her body no longer held shape.

"You ain't ever gonna smile agin', ya happy go lucky mother fucker." Zack spat. His heart was pounding, and he smiled at her corpse.

"That was the best fuckin' time I've had in weeks!" He mused. "Had t' take a break to get those damned pigs off my back… might as well have a little more fun tonight.."

Zack shuffled away from the body, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he thought it'd never stop… However, it did. The sound of glass bottles falling to the ground caught his attention. An empty beer bottle rolled from a stack of crates ahead of him. ,

"Hey, somebody there? C'mon out, I won't hurt 'ya." Zack smirked. Giggles kept escaping from his mouth, and he began to laugh. _Of course he'd hurt them._ His demand was answered with silence. Interested, he decided to investigate.

"What'cha hidin' for?" Zack asked, his adrenaline coming back to him. "I told y' already that I wouldn't hurt'cha." Nothing. Zack began to laugh once more, and walked his way over to the crates, dragging his bloodied scythe on the pavement. It created a shrill, ear piercing sound, and Zack liked to believe it made his prey even more scared.

Lifting his scythe above his head, Zack peered inside the crate. There was a little girl inside. But there was something off. She didn't look even a bit scared.

"Looks like I found 'ya!" Zack said, his voice was giddy with excitement. "Now, lemme tell ya how this'll go down…

—First, I'll let ya step outta the crate. Then, I'll give ya till the count of three to run for it."

He looked at the girl, who then match his gaze. Zack was taken aback by the lack of fear in her eyes.

"Why?" The girl asked him. Zack was rendered breathless. He could barely respond.

"The fuck? Where in hell did a 'lil brat like ya get the balls to talk back?" Zack demanded. However the girl didn't respond. "Speak the _fuck_ up! C'mon, _beg_ for your life! Show me your _despair_!"

"I know I won't be able to outrun you. Why would I run when there's no point to?" She asked, not a hint of emotion in her voice. Zack opened his mouth, then angrily shut it, and grabbed a fistful of the girl's shirt, yanking her out of the crate. He threw her on the ground, and tightened the grip on his scythe.

"Are you going to kill me now?" The girl asked. The lack of emotion in her eyes bored Zack.

He detested the empty look on her face. She reminded him of one of those porcelain dolls… same tiny body, blonde hair and delicate features… And the same, glassy, creepy-ass eyes. Hell, he doubted her lips could even crack a smile.

"Uh, yeah." He stuttered. He raised his scythe above his head, but… something didn't feel _right_. "Ah. AH! FUCK IT!" He threw his scythe on the ground, and pounced on the girl, grabbing her shoulders.

"Where is your _fear?_ The fuck is wrong with you?" Zack asked. "Do ya have a fuckin' death wish or somethin'?" The girl simply stared at him.

"I guess you could say that."

Rachel studied the serial killer who had straddled her. She had to admit, he did look quite horrifying.

He was just over six-feet tall, and his body was _built_. He seemed to possess unnatural strength, as no one she knew could swing around that humongous scythe so easily.

His figure was also covered in blood, having just committed murder and all. And… his face… was it covered in bandages? It was too dark for Rachel to be sure. However, regardless of whether he was or not, it certainly didn't make him look less threatening.

Yet, despite his horrific appearance, Rachel did not have an ounce of fear in her body. Perhaps, because she did not care whether or not she lived.

"What are you waiting for? Just kill me." Rachel demanded. The killer gagged.

"What the _fuck_?! Did ya just ask… me to kill ya?" Rachel nodded her head. The killer began to gag furiously, before he scrambled off of her puked.

"Blegh! What the _fuck_ is wrong with ya?! Are ya a fuckin' masochistic freak or somethin'?" He asked with disgust. The smell of his bile made Rachel gag.

 _Disgusting._

"No, I just… I don't want to live." She answered honestly. "What's wrong, you don't want to kill me..?" Zack shot her an angry look.

"Well, it's kinda hard, considerin' that y' ain't givin' me any reaction… I'm a respectable, grown-ass man. I don't wanna waste time cuttin' down emotionless dolls." Rachel let out a little giggle. "What the fuck're ya laughin' for?" Zack asked.

"Well… calling yourself a 'respectable grown man' is sort of ironic… considering that you're a serial killer." She answered honestly, a slight smile on her face. Zack's eyes narrowed into little slits.

"Congrats, now ya've made me wanna kill ya again." He told her, making his way to pick up his scythe. Rachel's eyes lit up with a masochistic glee.

"Really?" She asked, full of hope. Zack stopped dead in his tracks.

"Jesus Christ! What the actual fuck is wrong with ya?" He asked her once again. A pang of sadness hit Rachel's heart.

"I… I don't know." She said, her eyes returning to their "dead", and "empty" state.

"Whatever," Zack spat. "I don't have times for the likes of ya… However much it bores me, I hafta kill ya. Don't need a 'lil brat like ya snitchin' on me." Rachel smiled. "Really..? You mean it? You'll kill me?" She asked again.

"For fucks sakes! Shut the fuck up and stop being so goddamn creepy!" Zack screamed. "Yer really fuckin' creepin' me out."

"Please, o _h please oh please oh please oh please, please_ kill me, mister!" She begged, grabbing the bottom of his pants. Her heart was pounding with desperation, and her voice became shrill. He kicked his leg, sending her backward. He sighed, and picked up his scythe.

" _Fuck me_ , man." He sighed. "Y'know what? Fuck you. I ain't fulfilling this fucked up dream a yers. It's fuckin' gross." Rachel's heart stopped. "I probably don't even hafta worry 'bout ya snitchin', ya'll probably off yerself later tonight" Rachel became desperate.

"No. No, I won't. Suicide is unforgivable and hateful in the eyes of God." She rebutted. "I-I'll tell my father about what you did. And he's a cop—"

"Oh, _piss_ _off!_ Yer ruinin' my mood." Zack said, and he sprinted off into the darkness, leaving her alone…

 _all alone._

Wistfully, Rachel shuffled over to the mutilated corpse. "Oh," Rachel lamented. "How I wish I were you…"

"Blegh! What a crazy-ass masochistic bitch!" Zack muttered in disgust. "What a sick, fuckin' freak."

While Zack knew he should have killed her, he simply couldn't bring himself to do it. It was comparable to putting off cleaning, as it's boring _as fuck._ Like not wanting to clean the house, Zack did not want to kill Rachel. He mused over the reasons in his head, needing self justification for purposely letting one of his prey get away.

"First off, the fuckin' bitch was as dull as a doorknob. Secondly, she was just plain crazy! Askin' _me_ to do somethin' so fuckin' sick." He rationalized. "I thought I told her—I'm a self respected, grown-ass man, fer fuck's sake." He angrily kicked a glass bottle at the wall of the alley, liking the way it shattered noisily.

"I gotta find me some throats to slash… I'm _fiendin_ ' to kill somethin'… that actually deserves it!"

Three throats later, Zack's lust for blood was finally sated, and he was no longer in a sour mood. However, he was absolutely em _drenched/em_ in blood… Not that he minded, but It did make him look a bit suspicious, and even Zack knew he couldn't afford to kill every witness he came across, a massacre would put more heat on his hide.

There was only one place he could go… Even though he despised his need to go there.

Without knocking, Zack burst into the house of a priest he knew. He didn't try to be quiet about it, either. To be completely honest, Zack didn't give a fuck if the 'ol fart was disturbed by him.

 _Serves him right, fer bein' so creepy._

Zack opened and slammed the bathroom door, tossing his scythe on the floor, making an obnoxiously sharp, loud noise. He kicked off his shoes, and stripped off his hoodie and pants. Zack sighed as he began to unwrap the bandages off his body. They took too long to unwrap, and too long to wrap.

Zack looked into the mirror by mistake. He felt disgusted and resentful of the scars on his face and body.

 _How dare that fucker fuck me up like this?_

Frusterated, Zack hastily hopped into the shower and nearly ripped the curtains off the shower hook while trying to shut them. He cursed aloud when hot water hit his back, a result of him accidentally turning the knob too far. Eventually, he got the water temperature to a neutral state.

Zack's skin and hair weren't too bloody, as he was covered head to toe in bandages and clothing. However, he always felt the need to shower after killing. He didn't want a trace of those fucker's blood lingering on his body…

Plus he enjoyed the feeling of being clean, which was not something Zack had the privilege of, growing up on the streets, and while in that damned excuse of an orphanage.

Zack was loathe to admit that no kill had felt as good as his first.

He nearly jumped at a knock on the bathroom door.

"Zack, is that you?" The creepy-ass priest asked. "Why have you hastily broken in without saying as much as a word to I?" Zack groaned at the priest's voice.

"Yeah, it's me! Could ya do me a favour and not talk like a fuckin' dweeb?" Zack yelled. He found himself too annoyed to continue his shower. He stopped the water, and hopped out, water dripping all over the floor.

"Ah, Fuck!" He cursed. "Why the fuck don't ya have any god-damned towels in 'ere?!" Zack began to feel cold.

"Wait one moment, I will fetch you a towel." The priest said. Zack shivered a little, while swearing under his breath. He hated to feel too hot or too cold. "Fuck, I don't got a change 'a fuckin' clohtes, either." He cursed.

In what seems like forever, the priest returned. "May I open the door, Zack?" Zacks cheeks heated up.

"No fuckin' way, ya creep! Jus' leave 'em outside an I'll get 'em!" He yelled. "Jus' go away an don't fuckin' look."

"As you wish."

Zack waited a moment before slowly peeking out of the bathroom door. The priest wasn't there, and as he agreed to, there was a towel on the floor. He grabbed the towel and slammed the door.

While he was happy to dry himself off, Zack still faced a problem. He didn't have any spare bandages or clothes with him. He cursed aloud, and paced around in the bathroom. His hoodie was sopping with blood—leaving a little bloodstain on the floor, along with his jeans. No way he could wear those again.

He caught his image in the mirror once more. His skin was irritated and even pinker from the shower, and his burn scars were still as ugly as ever. He didn't even want Gray—the creepy priest to see his skin. Zack groaned.

"Zack, it dawned upon me that you mustn't have any clothes or bandages… I shall bestow upon you some that I've kept here for y—"

"Ya've kept extra shit fer me here?! What a fuckin' creep!" Zack yelled.

"Dost thou not want these clothes?" Gray asked, confused. Zack sighed.

"No—jus'… jus' leave 'em outside the door!" He demanded. Gray agreed, and Zack could hear him walk away from the door. He hastily opened the door to scoop up the clothes, but there was also… _burn cream_.

Although his burns didn't bother him too much anymore, the cream still felt relieving on Zacks skin. It was often dry, and that was irritating… so the moisture it provided made him feel better.

Zack sighed in relief as he smothered the cream on his skin. Although it burned a bit, it also made his skin feel better… more like skin-like, and less scaly.

As soon as he finished wrapping himself in bandages and dressed in the hoodie and jeans, Zack picked up his scythe left the house without a word to Gray, like usual. He didn't feel like acknowledging him.

He knew that the priest would offer a room and meal to Zack, and he didn't want to be bothered by that.

So he made way to the abandoned building he usually sought shelter in. He was no stranger to sleeping on the dirty, cold ground… and that sounded a lot more comforting than being stuck in a house with the creepy priest whose motives he didn't understand.

As per usual, Zack's mind raced with thoughts before he could fall asleep… When had his mind not been plagued by worry? However, his mind seemed occupied on the fact he let that little bitch get away.

He couldn't afford to have her snitch on him. The heat was close on his hide before, and he narrowly avoided getting arrested. Who knows would could happen if they caught his trail again? Zack shuddered. He hated feeling fear.

 _How can a serial killer be scared? No one can hurt me… before I hurt them._

"Zack, aren't you co—"

" _Tits on Christ!_ " Zack screamed, instinctively grabbing his scythe and aiming it at the noise that woke him up. His arm lowered when he recognized the owner of the voice. " _Gray?!_ The fuck? Did ya _stalk_ me?!" Gray was taken aback.

"For the first time, you have called me by my true name…" The priest mused. "Ah. Nevermind. Zack, how come thou left my house without telling me?"

Zack sighed. "I didn't feel like talkin' to ya… or bein' invited to sleep over again. I'm not a fuckin' teenage girl."

"But… You would rather sleep in this… _dump_ , rather than a warm bed?" Zack nodded his head. "No. I can't allow this. The police would certainly find you here." Gray decided. "Come hither. Follow me to my home."

Although the offer of a bed and perhaps some grub enticed Zack, he knew he couldn't give in. He couldn't come off as needy, or unable to handle himself.

"N-no fuckin' way." Zack scoffed. "Since when did you care so fuckin' much 'bout me? I ain't your son or nothin'."

"True, yet I cannot allow you to be apprehended or arrested… you… are an _angel_." Gray said. Zack looked him in the eyes, and when he noticed the priest was being serious, he began to laugh.,

" _Me_? A fuckin' _angel_? By God, that is the funniest shit I've heard!" Zack laughed. "Pull yer head outta yer ass and use yer brain!"

"I am serious." Gray responded.

"Jesus Christ… yer a fuckin' creep."

"There is morality and value in the actions you commit… Yet your actions _are_ sinful… I would like to help you—"

"Help me? I ain't never needed help before, an I sure as hell ain't needin yer help now." Zack said. "I think it's time fer me to kill ya." He decided, gripping his scythe harder. Gray did not step back, or show fear.

 _Like that fuckin' doll-lookin' bitch…_

 _"_ Zack… think this through over a warm, proper meal at my home. Thou look as if thou haven't eaten in weeks." Gray mused. It was true.. Zack did look a little emaciated.

He even felt his stomach rumble. Zack's cheeks reddened, and he finally gave into the priest. It's not like he hasn't taken advantage of him before… the damned creep probably thinks of him as needy already… No harm in taking advantage of his offer, Zack supposed.

"Fine! I'll come over to yer house and eat yer goddamned food!" He yelled. "Let's go, I'm gettin' impatient with ya." Gray smiled.

"Alright, let us be on our way.."

Zack felt a pain in his heart. He didn't know what it was, and he hated it… Made him… want to… kill someone. However, he knew he couldn't kill the old priest.

"If thou helps me, I will grant thee an apartment to live in…"

Zack didn't answer, his heart skipped a beat at the mention of a place to live. As much as Zack was used to the streets, he did long for a safe, clean place to sleep…

"Save it fer after I eat, 'ol man." Zack demanded.

Grey smiled. "As you wish…"


	2. Chapter 2 - Funny Seeing You Here…

"The fuck?" Zack exclaimed, throwing his fists on the priest's heavy dining table. "Ya want me— _me_ , t' work in yer _cafe_?"

Gray nodded his head. "I cannot keep helping you without nothing in return… However, I believe this arrangement shall benefit us both." He mused, rising from his seat to clear empty dishes off of his table. Zack began to laugh.

"Ya know I'd probably jus' end up killin' everyone who came to yer cafe, right?!" He roared, "I have other ways of gettin' money, ya know… I don't need to make a fool of myself in some shitty store of yers." Zack aggressively scooted back his chair and stood up, making his way to Gray's couch.

"If you were to work in my cafe, you wouldn't just be rewarded with money, Isaac… No, you would have the right to kill certain… _customers_." Gray stated. Zack stopped, and turned to face Gray, who was calmly washing dishes in a sink.

 _Killing_ … now _that_ piqued Zack's interest. "Eh? What kinda fucked up cafe is that? Why would ya wanna kill the shitheads givin' ya money?"

"Well, not every customer is to be killed, Isaac… The cafe is not just meant to serve customers refreshments…" Gray began, "no, think of it as… bait. Bait—to draw _sinners_ in, sacrifices… whose only purpose is to test the abilities of my… _angels_." Zank blinked, not really understanding what the priest was getting at. He was disturbed at the slight smile etched onto Gray's mouth.

"Fuckin' creep." Zack muttered. "An' what the fuck do ya mean by ' _angels_ '?"

Gray turned the tap off, leaving the room silent. Slowly, he walked closer to Zack, whose skin began to tingle with alarm.

"My _angels_ —why, you are one of them, Isaac." Gray answered.

"The fuck? Why the fuck d'ya keep callin' me an _angel_?" Zack asked, his lips curling in disgust. "An' what the fuck do ya wanna test me for?"

"I'd merely like to test the fibres of your being… Your morality and virtue.

"—I have a few others as well…" The priest walked to a bookshelf in his living room, and pulled out a thick album. Setting it on a coffee table in front of the couch in his living room, he began to flip through it's pages. Zack followed him, and sat on the edge of the couch opposite to Gray.

 _Fuck… What the hell's written on there?_

"Ah," Gray put his index finger on a page of the album, and turned it over so Zack could see.

The killer scoffed, and looked at Gray as if to remind him of something. He was beginning to feel impatient and anxious, and Zack's foot began to tap on the floor.

"Oh, I forgot, Isaac…" The priest apologized. "Here, this right here is my first angel… 'Daniel Dickens'." Gray pointed to a picture of a man—presumably _Daniel's_.

Zack hated his face. Daniel had a sappy grin in the picture, and reminded Zack of a pedophile.

"Danny is a psychiatrist who works in the hospital. He specializes in dealing with people who have suffered trauma, and convicts who have committed obscene crimes" Gray revealed. Zack scoffed.

"'The fuck is a psychiatrist?" The young killer asked. "A fancy word fer ' _pedophile_ '?" Gray laughed.

"No, Isaac. A _psychiatrist_ helps people suffering with mental illness." Zack felt like an idiot… but he still thought the bastard was a pedophile.

"Next is this young woman…" Gray announced, pointing his finger at a woman's picture on the next page of the album. "'Catherine Ward'." Zack didn't like the look of her, either.

Her smile was even more irritating to Zack than the pedophile-doctor's was. Although she was pretty—even Zack had to admit that—she looked… crazy. Ain't nobody normal had such a creepy smile.

"Catherine is a prison guard in the State Prison. She carries a strong sense of… _justice_." Gray revealed. Once again, the priest opened his mouth to speak, flipping to the next page of the album, but Zack interrupted him.

"Can ya stop wastin' my time showin' me these freaks? I really don't give a rat's ass who they are." He demanded impatiently. "Jus' tell me more about the people I'd get t' cut-up."

Gray smiled sinisterly. "Very well…" he began. "Those who I deem as _unworthy_ , or those who need to be tested in the eyes of God shall be free game for you—as well as the other _angels_ to kill.

—However, if you harm a customer who does not require judgement, or you attempt to attack another _angel_ , you will be revoked of your place as an _angel_ in my cafe… and become a sacrifice for the others."

Zack shuddered. "Sounds fuckin' creepy. I think I'm good with slashin' people on the street." Zack said as he slumped onto Gray's sofa.

"But Isaac…" Gray began, giving Zack another sinister look. "I do believe the police are on to you… but if you were to work for me, then I'd protect you." Zack's cheeks heated up, he had worried earlier about the _pigs_ getting hotter on his trail.

"Believe me, you will have the opportunity to kill a lot, as well. There are a lot of sinners and witches who need to be… judged." Gray got up from the couch, and put the album back into the shelf. "Sleep it over, and give me your answer in the morning…"

He left the living room and disappeared into another room, leaving Zack alone to mull over his options.

The thought of being able to kill without consequence piqued Zack's interest, as well as pocket change _and_ protection from _the pigs in blue_. Maybe…

Just maybe he'd take the priest up on his offer.

Rachel dragged her feet as she returned to her house. She didn't want to return—she'd rather be _dead_. Disheartened, she sighed deeply before mentally kicking herself.

 _To think of death so dearly—it's wrong. I can, no—I must get through this. I must be… strong._

It wasn't long before Rachel made it to her home, and that pit of dread and disappointment began to well up in her heart once again. Quietly, she turned the knob on her front door, but when she pushed on the door, it ceased to open. Feeling a pang of annoyance heat her chest, she dug in her purse for her house key.

She grasped the cool metal and shakily stuck it into the keyhole of the front door. Twisting until she heard the familiar click, she ripped it out and stuffed it back into her bag. Rachel once again turned the doorknob gently, and this time, the door opened.

The living room was dark, save for the weak flash of the television. Her heart and her body froze slightly with fear when she made out a figure slumped on the couch—her father.

The scent of alcohol permeated the air, causing Rachel's stomach to turn. Her father would most likely wake with a hangover the next day, which often meant a few new bruises for her and her mother. _OH well, nothing new._

Rachel began to creep up the stairs and into her room. She turned on her light and glanced at the clock—which read 'nine twenty-seven'. She was back just in time to go to bed at a normal time. If she got up at seven the next morning, she'd get a modest nine and a half hour sleep. Perfect.

The young girl walked over to her dresser and pulled out a light blue nightgown. She undressed herself swiftly and hastily pulled her nightgown over her head, then tossing her day clothes into a hamper.

She tip-toed over to her neatly-made bed, and slipped under her covers.

Rachel loved bed-time the most out of any time of the day. After all, it was _her time_. The darkness was like a heavy shield that protected Rachel, and the comfort of her pillow soothed any pain she felt—like the stinging that she still felt in her cheeks.

While she lay in her bed, Rachel also liked to daydream. She often found herself dreaming of having a _perfect family_ , in which her mother and father loved each other, _and_ Rachel.

She dreamt that she was not a mistake, or a burden… that she wasn't _lacking_ something. Her parents were kind, caring people, and never raised a violent hand to one another—or to Rachel.

Her perfect family would spend their days in the warm, golden sun. Rachel and her mother would spend time lovingly slaving over the perfect dinner to welcome her father back home, and he would scarf down every morsel, and call it, " _Delicious_!". They would retire to the living room after cleaning up, and sit together on the couch, watching movies together.

Money would not be a problem, either.

Then, came the morning. The _rude awakening_ … where Rachel would realize that her family was not perfect. That her mother and father hated her—and each other, and that they spent their days yelling and hitting each other in their cold house, after someone had used up all the money they had—leaving the bills unpaid, and poor Rachel starving.

She slipped out of her bed, gently pressing the 'stop' button on her alarm clock. Rachel began her routine morning rituals, such as making her bed, washing her face, getting dressed, and packing her schoolbag.

The time read, 'seven thirty-four', and Rachel smiled to herself, and picked the latest book she was reading off of her neatly-lined bookshelf. She had manipulated her mornings so that she would have at least fifteen minutes to read.

She would leave her house at seven fifty, and walk for ten minutes to the bus stop. The bus arrived somewhere between eight 'o clock and eight 'o five, and it'd take fifteen minutes to reach the school. Classes started at eight thirty, leaving Rachel more than enough time to visit her locker and drop off any books she didn't need for her first class.

And the whole time, her (annoying) friend, Edward Mason would accompany her, chattering her ear off.

Rachel set down her book and headed downstairs when she noticed it was seven forty-five, and noticed her father still passed out on the couch. It was sickening. As she was putting on her shoes, there was a knock on her door, loud and insistent. She heard her father groan and curse under his breathe, and her heart froze with fear.

She shot to her feet and yanked open the door, leaving a shocked expression on her friend Edward's face.

"Ah! Good mornin—" The redheaded boy was interrupted by Rachel—who had hastily shushed him. A light blush crept onto his cheeks, and he muttered an apology. Rachel stepped outside with Edward and quietly shut her door.

"Sorry, Eddie…" Rachel murmured. "My father was sleeping on the couch, and I was scared your voice would awaken him."

"Ah—I'm so sorry, Ray!" He exclaimed. "B-but… why was your dad sleeping on the couch in the first place..?" Rachel swallowed a lump in her throat.

"Um," she hesitated, "h-he… just came back from a night shift this morning—like around seven, and he wanted to watch some television before going to bed, and I guess he just kinda fell asleep there." Rachel hated lying, but… she couldn't let Edward now about her parent's true nature, like her father's alcoholism.

Truth is, her father had the day off yesterday, and had likely returned from the stripper's joint around the time Rachel was leaving the house.

But there was no way Edward could know that.

They walked together to the bus stop, Edward chattering about some non-important thing. The bus had come a tad early that day, and they had to run when they saw it approach some fifty metres away.

—It might be worth mentioning that the bus Rachel and Edward toke each morning was the _city bus_. The two of them lived a bit too far to walk to where the school bus's route was.

Panting, the two scanned their bus passes (issued by the school) and said their routine ' _good morning'_ s to the bus driver. Rachel's eyes scanned the bus to look for two seats for her and Edward, when her heart froze.

There, in the back of the bus, was the " _Psycho Killer_ " who Rachel witnessed commit murder last night.

…and if she wasn't mistaken, there was a priestly-looking man talking to him… an ironic juxtaposition. Her heartbeat began to accelerate, and she became deaf to the noise around her.

And then they locked eyes.

"Rachel, what's wrong?" Edward asked, tugging on the sleeve of her jacket. "You're not moving—and we're blocking the aisle."

Rachel's eyes darted to meet Edward's, and she grasped onto his sleeve—causing him to blush.

"C-c'mon, let's sit down." He stammered, gently pulling her behind him. "There's some room in the back—"

" _No_!" Rachel pleaded, tugging back. "T-there's two seats right here." She motioned to their left, and dragged him to them.

He reluctantly sat down, and started to question his friend's abnormal behaviour.

"Hey, Rachel, what's wrong..?" She bit her lip, nervously glancing towards the back, and then snapping her head back to him.

"I-it's nothing. Nothing's wrong," She tried to assure him with a forced smile. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest—so hard it rattled her ribcage. The heated stare of a certain killer caused Rachel to sweat profusely.

Edward was visibly unconvinced that Rachel was 'fine', but he dropped it, instead gazing out the window.

Rachel wanted nothing more than for the bus ride to end… not that she feared the possibility of the serial killer murdering her, but for the awkwardness and shame she felt for begging so pathetically for him to end her life yesterday night.

It was… unlike her—to beg like that. She just… she had just never felt the need to die more than she did that night. There was no particular reason, either.

Rachel just had t _he urge_ , and right before her, was the _solution._

Zack swore under his breath.

Right in front of him—was that _masochistic, crazy bitch_ … The last person he had wanted—or expected to see on this shithole. Why did he let her live, again? _Right_ , that boring, dead look in her eyes. It was still there, too, although she did look a tad frightened when she saw him.

"That… little brat!" Zack exclaimed, interrupting Gray, who was blabbing on about something or another.

"…Excuse me, Isaac?" The priest asked, looking at Zack, and then to what—or rather, _who_ he was staring so intensely at. "Do… do you know that young girl?"

Zack choked. "Huh?!" He snapped at the priest seated beside him, feeling his cheeks heat up. "N-Nah, I jus' saw her starin'.. I'm startin' to have a feelin' for killin'."

"Ah, not on public transport, Issac," Gray scolded him, "alright then, let us return to our previous conversation, then."

Whatever the priest was telling Zack fell on deaf ears, as the killer was more interested in the little girl that he had let get away. She looked annoyed at the boy beside her, who was chattering away. _Annoying little red-headed shit._ The boy reminded him of someone, actually…

Someone right beside him, chattering in his ear.

He took his attention off of the young brat and tuned into what Gray was blabbering about.

"You will be provided a locker in the staffroom, as well as a brand-new uniform." The priest announced. "Daniel Dickens—the head waiter, will be training you today." Zack frowned.

"Ah, yer makin' me deal with people?!" He groaned. "What if I get angry 'n slash 'em to bits?"

"Then I—or another _angel_ will slash _you_ to bits." Gray answered nonchalantly. Zack gulped. He never felt threatened before, but hearing a death threat from the creepy-priest definitely stirred him up a little.

He wasn't even sure Gray could die.

"So, learn to control yourself, Zack. …You seem to be handling this bus trip rather well," Gray commented.

"Well like ya said earlier—I'd get caught if I started killin' these fuckers!" Zack exclaimed with annoyance. "I know how to hold off, y'know."

"Speak more quietly, Isaac, people are beginning to _really_ stare at us…" The priest scolded the rowdy killer squirming in his seat beside him.

"But Isaac," Gray began, "Didn't you just tell me you might accidentally fly off the handle and attack the customers at the cafe?"

 _OH, the fucker was right, damn him._

Zack groaned. "Whatever, ol' man!" He folded his arms across his chest and looked over to the girl and her friend once again.

They both stood up, and made their way towards the exit. Their stop must be coming up.

The girl slowly turned her head towards the back of the bus—towards Zack—once more. And when they locked eyes, Zack saw her cheeks go pink. However, she did not look away, and Zack did not want to back down and be the first to look away, as that would make him appear submissive.

He didn't know what to do, and was beginning to feel frustrated. Was she taunting him? Zack's blood boiled at that notion.

 _Perhaps her beggin' fer me to take her life… was just a ploy to make me not wanna kill her..? Like that one bitch…_

The bus rolled to a stop, and the doors opened. The girl tore her eyes away from Zack and bolted off of the bus with her redheaded friend.

Zack peered out the window to see her hastily walking towards the entrance of a school, and the view slowly disappeared as the bus drove on.

The killer smiled as a realization popped into his mind.

"Hey, God-Fucker," Zack poked Gray in the shoulder, getting his attention. "What time did ya say I start each day?"

"Around nine, so show up at about eight forty each morning so you can change into your uniform and prepare yourself for your shift." Gray answered.

"How long does it take to get there, again?" Zack asked.

"If you were to walk from my place—where you shall be staying until you can afford an apartment—approximately thirty-five minutes on bus, with a few minute walk to the cafe. You should catch the eight fifty-eight bus each morning to make it on time."

Zack felt like he was going to shit himself with excitement.

He would catch the little brat on the bus each morning…. Now _that_ , will be awkward. Seeing that little shit bask in pride after being spared her life annoyed Zack… But this also gave him the chance to follow her out of the bus, and lead her to an isolated spot in an alley, where he could make her plead _for_ her life, rather thank to take it.

The priest noticed the sinister, blood-thirsty grin on Zack's face, and questioned him as to why.

"OH, it's nothin'…." Zack chuckled, feeling his heart swell with excitement. "I jus' found me a _target_ , an' she'll be a piece 'a cake to kill!" Gray's demeanour darkened with disappointment.

However, the old man did not scold Zack as per usual.

He simply shut his mouth, and leaned back into his seat.


	3. Chapter 3 - Service With a Smile

"You're not eating anything for lunch _again_ , Rachel?"

The blonde felt her cheeks heat up—she hated confrontation. She scrounged for an excuse, but she knew Edward would not believe her. Besides—what excuse did a skinny, boney-girl like her have to not eat? …well, an excuse that was not _"There's no food in the fridge, since my parents do not have the money to buy food—or a reason to."_

She and Edward were sitting on the floor against the wall in one of the less busy wings of their school, as they did everyday at lunch. She often brought an apple or something with her, but this week the house was completely devoid of food. There was no need for it—her father would eat at the bar, and her mother, she had ways of scrounging for food from the men who used her like a sex tool.

Rachel didn't need to eat. _Monsters_ don't need to eat.

"Rachel, you're so skinny! I sure hope you're not anorexic or something…" Her redheaded friend exclaimed. "N-not that I'm saying you look _ugly_ , just that I'm worried."

Rachel aggressively shook her head, still feeling a little bit insulted.

"No i-it's just…" _quick—think of something!_ "My parents haven't had the chance to go grocery shopping, a-and our panty was just, um, some bug got in there and we had to throw everything out! Some weird brand of natural rice or something." Rachel stammered.

 _Why are you defending them?_

 _—_ _because they're my parents_.

 _But they don't love you._

 _No, they… They will, I'll make them._

 _Make them love you?_

 _…_ _yes_.

 _Pigs will fly before that happens. You should just kill yourself, it's not going to happen. You're…_

— _A monster._

"Oh, that makes sense," Eddie said, his smile returning to his face. Rachel shook her head to shake the voices away. "Here—for today, you can eat my sandwich!" Rachel began to salivate, having not eaten much but stale crackers for the past couple days.

"N-no, Eddie… It's yours, so you should eat it." She declined weakly. Edward frowned, and slumped over in thought, before abruptly straightening up again.

"Hey, we can split it in half!" Before Rachel could protest, he had ripped his sandwich in half. Selflessly, he handed the larger piece to Rachel, smiling. She merely stared at it, before reluctantly taking the half of the sandwich from him.

"Thanks, Eddie…" She mumbled, before ravenously stuffing the sandwich in her mouth.

Edward was visibly appalled, and a bit surprised at how she quickly she stuffed it down.

The blonde smiled after stuffing the last bite into her mouth, and she felt her stomach react to the new food in her body. She felt stuffed to the brim—despite the half of the sandwich being just larger than a deck of cards, and pathetically thin, to boot.

Like her, Edward's family did not have much in terms of money, and Rachel's filled gut shrunk with guilt for taking the one of the only things he likely got to eat each day

He often complained about only receiving his older brothers' hand-me-downs, never really receiving anything brand-new. She had a hard time grasping how that was so bad. At least Edward had everything he needed. Rachel, however, barely had anything.

"Wow, Rachel… you must have been famished!" Edward mused. The malnourished girl felt her cheeks begin to heat up. Edward's half of the sandwich had only a few bites in it.

"Oh, sorry…" She meekly apologized. Not knowing what to say, Rachel fell back to her default. Apologizing. Suddenly, Edward took one of her hands in his, and once again gave her a big grin.

"Don't be sorry, Rachel! I would share anything with you—without hesitation, should you want or need it." He said—so casually, as if what he said didn't make him feel nervous or embarrassed.

Perhaps that was because it didn't.

Edward was very forward, after all. He did not hesitate in lavishing Rachel with unwanted compliments." _Oh, Rachel, your hair is so beautiful..", "Wow, your eyes—it's like looking into the ocean!",_ and " _Your voice, it's so lovely… Like the singing of the angels…"_ Each compliment her friend would lavish upon her made her chest feel heavy—after all, an abomination did not deserve that kind of attention.

Hearing such lies made her heart hurt, and her brain swell. It was so alien to her. Although Rachel wanted nothing more than to be desired, Edward's form of attention… It made her uneasy. What was one supposed to say? Often Rachel said nothing. Sometimes, if she was feeling particularly guilty for not interacting with Edward, she would mutter an apology.

So _submissive_ … That was her method of survival.

Yet it didn't save her from any beatings.

The bell rung, signalling the end of lunchtime. Rachel was surprised at how fast it went, and slowly rose to her feet along with Edward.

"What class do you have?" He asked, shoving the last bite of his half of his sandwich into his mouth.

"Textiles." Rachel replied with a small smile. The one class she enjoyed.

"Oh, cool!" Edward exclaimed, starting to walk down the hall—most likely to Rachel's locker. He liked to escort her to all of her classes. "You're so good at sewing, Rachel… I would _kill_ to have a scarf sewed by you…"

"You don't _sew_ a scarf, Edward. They're typically knit… although, I suppose some scarfs are simply just hemmed fabric." She mused. Her friend chuckled a little, and she shot him a confused look.

"Oh, Rachel… How your face lights up when you talk about sewing! It's beautiful." He exclaimed, his steps becoming more like tiny bounces.

Once again, Rachel was rendered silent. She was desperate to get rid of him. She hated how awkward he could make her feel.

"You should get to your class, Edward. I can make it to the sewing portable just fine." She said, slowing her pace from his. He turned and looked at her with sad-looking eyes.

"Oh, okay…" he whined, before perking up. "I guess I'll see ya after school!"

Rachel nodded her head, and headed towards the school's exit. The sewing portable was outside—there was not enough room to have the class inside the school, and sewing class was not very popular, so they did not really need such a big room.

She was the youngest out of the class of fifteen. _Advanced Textiles 11/12_ … Although there were one or two younger kids in that class as well as her, though they were in ninth and tenth grade.

She finally reached the small, humid portable.

And Rachel was home.

Zack had just finished changing into his new uniform. He looked in the mirror of the staffroom's bathroom.

 _He looked like a fucking tool_.

He wore a white dress shirt (that took quite a while, since he kept fucking up and buttoning the buttons in the wrong places), of which the collar sticked up and grazed his cheek. Gray had also given hime a tie. Although Zack saw people wearing ties before, and knew they went around the neck, he didn't have a _fucking_ clue as to _how_ they were tied… So he simply tied it in a knot around his neck, and now it looked like Zack was wearing _two_ ties.

 _God-fucking damnit._ Zack felt like an idiot. Though it wasn't his fault that he never had a father figure to teach him this kinda thing.

At least the pants he wore were normal. The two dinkiest things about his _uniform_ were his apron and hat.

 _That fucking hat_.

It was the _dumbest_ fuckin' hat he has ever seen. It was one of those hats that _pussies_ wore—a messenger hat. As a proud, self-respected adult man—and serial killer—Zack wasn't used to looking so… _dinky._

The apron was degrading, too. He didn't like to look like a fucking servant.

 _a tool_

Zack sighed. _Maybe_ the uniform would look better on someone else. A human—rather than a monster like him, wrapped in bandages to hide his…

"Isaac, does it fit?" Gray asked, knocking on the door of the restroom. Zack jolted a little bit—shit, he got lost in thought.

"It fits jus' fine, I… I don't know how to… tie the fuckin' tie." Zack admitted.

"Ah, I can help with that," Gray offered, failing to hide the excitement in his words. "May I come in?"

 _Shit, the ol' man's planning on acting like a fuckin' dad again._ But… Zack wasn't in any place to refuse his help. He looked like a fucktard.

"F-fine." He barked.

Gray opened the door to the restroom, and had to restrain a—

—laugh.

Zack had never heard the priest laugh before.

"W-what the fuck're ya laughin' at?" Zack barked. Gray barely constricted his smile.

"Nothing. Except… The tie—"

"Shut the fuck up!" Zack snapped defensively. "…don't just stand there an' mock me." Gray smiled, and approached him somewhat slowly—almost cautiously, as if he was afraid of… being struck down.

"I can help you put it on… Will you let me touch you?" Gray asked, and Zack shivered a bit.

 _Fuck, bad memories_. "Why d'ya gotta make it sound so fuckin' creepy? It's fine, knock yerself the fuck out."

Gray untied the knot on the tie around Zack's neck, and couldn't help but look at his face. The killer was sweating, not being particularly used to people touching him. Gingerly, the priest wrapped the tie around the collar of Zack's dress shirt. And he began a complicated series of actions that led to the tie being tied.

"There, it's done." Gray said, folding the collar of Zack's dress shirt.

 _It looked…. right_.

"Um, thanks…" Zack mumbled, fidgeting with the tie around his neck. He felt a little claustrophobic, and began to pull on it. To Zack's surprise, it slid down easily. _Just what kind of fuckin' knot is this.?_

While he was at it, Zack unbuttoned the first few buttons of the dress shirt, revealing his collarbone. He preferred it that way. The priest sighed quietly.

"Shall we go downstairs, then? It's about time for you to start your first shift with Daniel…" The priest said, beginning to walk out of the bathroom. Zack merely followed him.

"Can't fuckin' wait."

The Cafe was empty, save for one average-height man with green hair and glasses, who was leaning on a counter. They locked eyes, and the man froze for a moment before awkwardly forcing a grin.

 _Fucker's scared of me_. Zack thought, his muscles tensing with anger. _Nothin' I ain't used to anyhow…_

 _Monster_.

"H-Hi, I'm Danny!" The man chirped, reluctantly extending a hand for Zack to shake. The killer merely stared at it. He didn't want to touch that man's hand after he had been judging him. Danny's smile faded a touch. "E-erm, you must be Isaac—"

"It's _Zack_ ," He corrected. "I fuckin' hate when people call me Isaac, so _don't_."

 _And Zack hated his fuckin' smile, too. Fucker looked way too happy_.

Danny blinked, visibly confused as to whether or not he did something to piss off the young man. "R-right. Sorry." He mumbled. "So—let's get ya started with training!" _Christ, even his fuckin' voice pissed him off_.

"So this," Danny started, leading Zack behind the table, "Is where the magic happens!" Zack scoffed.

There was a sink, and a few complicated looking taps. There were metal sliding cupboards behind them, which Danny opened for him. "These are the coolers that we put dairy and the like in to make our drinks."

 _Wait_.

"The fuckin' cupboards are fuckin' fridges?" The killer belted out in confusion, causing a panicked expression on Daniel's face.

"Isaac—er, _Zack_ , you mustn't swear like that when you're working!" He cried, his left eye widening while his right stayed the same. "You'll frighten the customers." Zack looked confused. He didn't remember seeing any customers.

"The fuck you talkin' bout? There ain't any customers here." Zack asked with annoyance.

"Oh, of course, it's just, tomorrow, when we open, you should really refrain from cursing in front of the customers…" Daniel said, his mouth curved in a little smile—though he looked frightened.

 _Yeah fuckin' right._ Zack thought.

They spent nearly an hour going over Zack's responsibilities. He was supposed to make people coffee—not _just coffee_ , though. Special coffee. Coffee with ice in it, coffee that had the consistency of a slushie, and coffee with five-million fuckin' spices poured in it. It was so much, Zack felt as if his brain was going to explode.

"I'm not really cut out for that coffee-makin' shit, I'm better at slashin' folks." Zack had said, causing Daniel to twitch.

"Ah—don't worry, you'll get used to it soon enough." The doctor reassured him, _with that fuckin' obnoxious smile._ "Come on, lets try to make a simple cappuccino"

Zack had learnt that was easier said than done.

He had ended up spilling hot liquid everywhere the first attempt, burning his hands and chucking the rest of the mug at Daniel, burning him too. " _Fuck! S-sorry._ The second attempt was better—no burns were made, but the cappuccino tasted like _shit_. It toke about seven more attempts to make a cappuccino that tasted _okay_.

Though he was loathe to admit it, Zack was pretty proud.

Another responsibility was serving people food. The chefs in the back made it—either Gray or a young brat named "Eddie", but Zack had to bring it to people, _like a fuckin' slave._ He didn't like that. The thing that bothered him the most, though, was doing it with a dumb-ass smile. The Doctor thought it would be a good idea to go through a practise run for Zack, so he had sat down and ordered the killer to go take his order.

"What do you want?" The waiter-in-training asked the disappointed head-waiter.

"Uh, you come off as rude when you say it like that—try saying, 'Now what can I get for you today?', okay?" Daniel critiqued. Zack sighed, and resisted the urge to slit his trainer's throat.

"What can I get for ya today?" Zack asked annoyingly.

The doctor averted his eyes from Zack, and began to fidget. "Hey, that was better… but, try sounding a bit happier…"

"Oh for f _uck's sake!_ " Zack cursed, slamming his fists on the table Daniel sat at. "What can I _fuckin_ ' get fer ya, ya piece of fuckin' shit?" He asked with a painful grin on his face.

"Uh, don't swear when—"

"Oh, shut the fuck up!" Zack exclaimed. He was about to go berserk, but then… near the front, the Reverend was staring him down with a dangerous glare in his eyes. The killer knew he had to step up and smile, no matter how much it made him want to slit Daniel's and his own throat… Lest he feel the wrath of that demented priest.

"What can I get for you.?" Zack asked calmly, his mouth curled into the smallest, most uncomfortable smile. Daniel looked disappointed still, but he nodded his head and accepted that that was the best Zack was going to give him.

"Good, Zack! Now, I will 'place an order'… I would like a…. Scrambled benny with a black coffee, please! …now this is the part where you grab your notepad and write down the order." Daniel instructed.

 _Uh-oh._

"Uh, there's jus' one problem with that…" Zack mumbled, shifting his weight on each foot nervously. "I can't uh… I can't write…. or read…" Daniel furrowed his brows in disbelief.

"Uh, are you being serious?" He asked.

"Yeah I'm bein' fuckin' serious! Are ya fuckin' judgin' me right now? 'Cause I'll fuckin' slash ya to bits, ya pedophile-fuck!" The killer balled up his fists, intimidatingly towering over his shorter superior.

"A pedophile?! I'm not—" Zack inched closer to him. "A-Ah, no, no! It's just I, uh, thought everyone learned to read in school..?" Daniel stammered, leaning back in his seat.

"Didn't go to school, that's why. Spent my time on the fuckin' streets as a brat." Zack explained, leaning back from Danny and loosening up a bit, the _memories_ coming back to him.

"Oh, okay… um sorry..? I uh—"

"Why're ya apologizin'? Jus' shut up and tell me what else I should do?" Zack demanded.

"R-right! Hm… well, I guess you can just use your memory and simply relay the message to someone else who can write it down… In the meantime, someone can teach you how to write, I suppose…" Danny thought, a little perplexed. "Well, anyways, now you would go to the kitchen and tell them what the customer just ordered… in the meantime, doing other things like taking more orders, and cleaning tables until you can take out the orders to the customers!"

"This sounds like a lot of fuckin' work." Zack complained.

"OH, don't worry—you'll get used to it, I believe I you!" Danny cheered, smiling.

Lastly, he was told that had to clean a bunch of shit… Which included getting his hands wet—meaning that he couldn't wear any bandages over his hands. Zack flipped out when Danny told him to take them off, extremely defensive of his hands.

The annoyances began to build up, and Zack's vision begun to turn _red_. The responsibilities building up, the patience required to learn, and his trainer's smile… _His fucking smile._

"Oh, that's _it_! Yer askin' me too much, man! Yer makin' me angry—and yer makin' me fiendin' to kill!" Zack yelled, throwing a cup filled with a _failed_ Frappuccino onto the ground, and grabbing his knife from where he had hidden it in his shoe. Danny gulped. "I promised the ol' man I wouldn't kill anybody, but I don't fuckin' care anymore! The look of _terror_ on your face—it's _electrifyin_ '!"

The r _ed_ began to take control, and Zack began to lust for blood, his heart beating rapidly, amplifying his lusts to cut deep holes through Danny.

Slowly, he walked towards Daniel, whose features were _deliciously_ distorted with fear.

"Z-Zack! What're—is this a joke?!" The trembling doctor asked.

"No, this is a real fuckin' _nightmare_!" Zack squealed, holding his knife against Daniel's throat. The doctor squirmed like a pathetic worm under the knife, and begged for mercy.

The red had swallowed him, and Zack began to laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

And laugh.

The sight of Daniel's obnoxious smile turning quickly to a disgusted curl of despair caused Zack's brain to swell with ecstasy. He needed _more_ of that a _ddictive happiness._

"Oh, y _es! More, give me MORE! Enough of that fucking smile—give me FEAR!_ " Zack shrieked, his voice shrill and cracking from delirium. "Oh does it please me to see that grin fade into despair!"

He had snapped. That _fucking_ grin really got to him—and the numerous expectations that the job entailed. The red—his _desire_ —had engulfed him… an _ocean_ of bloodlust.

"I'm gonna slice ya up so good it'll paint this whole fuckin' cafe red!"

Zack raised his knife—which to his dismay, was knocked out of his hand by a vase. It hit hard, and Zack cursed out in pain. The vase cracked against a counter and shards of ceramic were sent flying.

The shards began to cut into the _red_ , leaving holes.

"What have I told you, Isaac? No attacking your coworkers!" Gray scolded the killer, his voice shattering both Zack and Daniel's earbuds.

Zack winced when he noticed the priest stomp towards him. He hastily grasped for his knife on the ground, cutting his hands on the broken ceramic. A heavy boot stomped on his hand, and Zack cried in pain as he heard things in his hand _snap._

He had another veil cast over him—the veil of pain.

" _Fuck_! What the fuck, ol' man?!" Zack howled at Gray.

"I told you—If you attack anyone, I will kill you," The priest reminded him, "I'll let this serve as a mere warning if you apologize to Daniel." Zack tried to pull his hand from under the heavy boot, but failed. He cursed once more.

"He's scolding that killer as if he's a fucking child." Daniel disbelievingly mused.

"Fat fucking chance! That piece of shit deserves to be run through!" Zack protested stubbornly. He yelped as the Reverend put even more pressure on his hand. " _Fuck-fuck-fuck!_ T-that fuckin' _hurts_!"

"If you apologize and cease your selfish behaviour, then I'll stop." Gray offered.

Zack wasn't one for pain, so he caved quickly… Even if it was humiliating.

"Sorry. Kinda fuckin' flipped 'cuz of yer stupid smile and stupid rules." The killer barked, hissing from pain.

"You could do better, Isaac." The Reverend said, putting more weight onto Zack's hand.

"Mmph! I'm fuckin' sorry for tryna kill ya!" Zack screamed, curling up on the floor.

Gray looked to Daniel. "Does this apology please you?" He asked, not yet taking his heavy boot of of Zack's bandaged hand.

Daniel blinked, not believing what he was seeing. "Uh, y-yeah," He stammered.

Gray lifted his foot, and Zack brought it to his chest, and began to swear profusely. His hand throbbed, and it would be a miracle if there weren't any broken bones. "Oh Jesus fuckin' Christ! The _fuck_? That hurt so fuckin' much!" The killer whined, before shakily standing to his feet and glaring at Gray. "You made me look like a pathetic fuckin' kid! I swear I'll fuckin' kill ya, ol' man!"

He then looked to Daniel and sneered. "I only fuckin' apologized to ya 'cuz I wanted to save my hand—it's my _killin_ ' hand, after all. Don't think for one fuckin' second that it was 'cuz I felt bad, or that I didn't want to kill ya."

Zack inched a bit closer to Daniel, but didn't touch him. "One day—I'll kill ya too. After all—I ain't no fuckin' _liar_."

Daniel nodded his head and laughed. "Hah, you won't do anything to me," The doctor spat. "Fucking monster."

Zack tensed up once more, looking as if he might lunge, but before he could, Gray restrained him with a hand on his shoulder. The killer flinched, and hastily brushed off the Reverend's hand.

"You're excused for the day, Daniel." The Reverend said. "I'll handle Zack's training from here-on."

Daniel laughed with relief, and scrambled towards the staffroom. "Don't have to ask me twice." He cackled, turning his head to snarl at Zack.

"I'm still _fiendin_ ' to kill, so I'm gonna dip and cut some fuckers up." Zack exclaimed, stomping towards the exit.

"Ah! Isaac, wait!" Gray cried. "Please, change out of your uniform, you might not be able to get the blood out when you're done, and I don't have anything else that's your size!"

The killer laughed, and turned to look at Gray. "I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, ol' man. It won't be the first time I'll get blood on my shit. Besides—that piece of shit is upstairs, and I might hafta stab him while I'm up there."

Zack slipped out the door, a devilish smile on his face.

His veil of red had been pulled back over his eyes.

"Gray? Is he your kid or something?" Daniel asked, having just changed out of his uniform.

The Reverend coughed, restraining a smile. "N-no, I've merely lent a helping hand to him from time to time—it's nothing."

 _So he wants to be recognized as a father, huh?_

"Well uh, thanks for stopping him…" The doctor's heart finally began to slow down. "Was he—was he actually going to kill me?"

"Most likely." Gray answered nonchalantly—as if there was nothing odd about that.

"So, is he going to try again?" Danny scowled. "I hate to say this, but I just can't work here anymore if he's going to be a threat to my life—I still haven't found the _perfect_ peepers yet!"

"Oh, Daniel Dickens… How _amusing_ —you threatening to leave this place." The Reverend chuckled. "Don't you realize… That this is a privilege? Not many cafes…

—give their workers the right to kill without consequence."


	4. Chapter 4 - A Perfect Family

The bell had rung, finally announcing the end of the school day. Students anxious to flee the school ground fled from their classes, clustering in the halls… scrambling to make their escape. Rachel, however, did not like the end of school—even though she was fatigued.

The girl had a penchant for knowledge. Rachel took pleasure in learning all that she could—having a certain fondness for chemistry. She was also quite adept in English and reading.

But of course, sewing was her favourite. The ability to make things— _her own_ things… and to make things _perfectly_ thrilled her. Rachel wished she had the ability to make her life perfect—to sew a perfect family… like the one in her dreams.

The young blonde took her time walking to her locker, staying a few extra minutes in her chemistry class helping her teacher cleaning up after the lab they had that day to help avoid the large crowd.

As per usual, her redheaded friend was waiting for her at her locker.

"Rachel!" He exclaimed gleefully as he saw her approaching. "How was the rest of your day?"

"It was good." She answered blandly. Rachel opened her locker to retrieve her school bag. It was a simple, locker, that wasn't filled with the excessive things that most girls had filled theirs with. The only contents of Rachel's lockers were her bag, her schoolbooks, and any books she may have been keeping in there that she read for leisure.

"So… are you free today, Rachel?" Edward asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The long seven hours of school did not wear down his energy at all. Edward seemed to have an endless reserve of it—perhaps a result of his upbringing as a gravedigger.

The boy would spend long hours exerting himself digging six foot graves, and chipping away at stone to make tombstones. As a result, Edward was unusually muscular for a twelve year old. His strength was perplexing—he rivalled the strength of boys years older than him.

Rachel swung her Back-pack over her shoulder, and gingerly closed her locker. "I don't think I should, I have to study for a test tomorrow and complete my sewing project." She said, grasping the straps of her bag.

 _A lie…_ She couldn't help but lie to Edward. She didn't want to hang out with him today, she was just so tired.

Edward's smile suddenly drooped into a disappointed frown. The admiration that gleamed in his eyes was clouded with disappointment.

"I understand…" He murmured dejectedly. "Shall we catch the bus, then?"

Rachel nodded her head, and began to walk alongside her red-headed friend to towards the bus stop. It was a mildly warm day, and for once the skies were clear from April's Showers. The air smelled clean and crisp, and a mild breeze blew Rachel's hair.

"I love the way your hair flies in the wind," Edward remarked, mesmerized by her golden locks. His fingers twitched, and it looked as if he was going to run his fingers through her hair. To Rachel's relief, he abstained from touching it.

They stood at the bus stop in silence, listening to the birds chirp happily. After a while, the bus finally arrived, and the two hopped on.

Rachel's slight form was slumped against the window, appearing enervated. Edward refrained from chattering at her, instead leering at her form.

The blonde was perplexed by her friend's infatuation with her, and it was one of the only things that made her feel uneasy. Regardless, Edward was someone she could feel safe with—the emonly/em one she could feel safe with. His company was valuable.

Finally, her stop came, and she hopped out alone, bidding her friend goodbye.

Now began the walk home. Rachel usually had to head home early after school—lest her parents accuse her of whoring around and committing nefarious deeds, but she could feel the lack of food begin to have an effect on her. Her head was pounding, as if it was a drum, her starved gut the mallets being swung against her skull. The girl was having moments of vertigo, and her vision spinning.

She knew there wasn't food at home, so perhaps she could stop by the grocery store and get one of those cheese sticks for free. It was only half an hour away…

Before Rachel could decide, she was heading to that grocery store. She was grateful that they gave out free bread to children… and that she still looked so young for a thirteen year old.

The walk was long, but Rachel made it—and received her free breadstick. Her hunger beginning to wear her down, she stuffed the breadstick in her mouth right in front of the baker, wolfing it down within thirty seconds.

"Wow, you must be hungry..!" The baker chuckled, "Here, have another." He handed another breadstick to Rachel, who barely hesitated before snatching it out of his hands and stuffing it into her mouth.

"Thank you very much, sir." She garbled, mouth full of food. The baker chuckled, and told her to go find her parents before she got lost.

But her parents were at home.

The walk home was easier than the walk there, and Rachel began to take pleasure in the nice weather. She did want to hurry home, though, as she didn't want her parents to accuse her of being a delinquent and get mad.

So, although it wasn't a good idea, Rachel decided to take some shortcuts in the alley.

 _I wonder if that serial killer will come and kill me..?_

But there was not any serial killer in the alleys. However, she heard something whining to her left—in a dead-end of the alley. It sounded like a puppy. Rachel stepped curiously over to the dead-end, and in a corner sat a puppy.

It was a little brown dog, who looked to be covered with mud. The puppy didn't appear to belong to one specific breed, and Rachel was not an expert on dog breeds.

"Aw, hello little puppy," Rachel cooed, crouching in front of it. "Are you lost? Maybe you don't have an owner?" The puppy began to growl a little, and defensively backed up against the wall. Rachel frowned, then stood up.

The puppy looked so frail… It was practically shaking, and it appeared emaciated—kind of like Rachel.

"I want to bring you home, so you can be my puppy. You're so cute! But I have to ask my parents first," She said, readjusting the strap of her backpack to hold it close. "I hope they'll say 'yes', either way, I'll be back to see you again, puppy."

Rachel hastily walked home, and within five minutes she had reached the familiar group of shoddy townhouses. She leapt up the steps to her townhouse, and hesitated at the door. She could hear her parents fighting.

Nothing new.

Quietly, she opened the door. Their screams were loud, accompanied by the sounds of shattering plates and glass. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen. Rachel casually kicked off her shoes, and mustered up her courage to confront her parents.

"Ah!" Her father howled in frustration. "Why must you always contradict me?"

Rachel stopped short of the kitchen, and listened in.

"Well, who would listen to an _alcoholic_ " Her mother retorted

"I was out working my ass off all day.. only to come back to this fucking pigsty. I emhate/em coming back to this house." Her father grunted.

"That's quite a mouth you've got there," Her mother cried, laughing shrilly. "for some worthless, wino cop like you."

"Oh, tell me what else you think I am, you bitch. Alcohol's less poisonous compared to the shit comin' outta your mouth." Her father spat.

More banging. "Y-you're hurting me..! Stop… Stop it!" Her mother cried.

"I'm bummed out, havin' ended up with a psychotic bitch of a wife like you… you always look so wretched—why are you so fucking unhappy?!"

More banging.

Her mother shrieked in pain once again. "You're the one who made me this way!" She screamed. "It's your fault! It's all your fault!"

Another plate shattered. Rachel stood there, dumbfounded.

"I wonder if they'll even listen to me.." Rachel said, walking to the kitchen. She kicked a beer bottle with her feet, sending it crashing to the ground.

Rachel reached for the handle of the door that lead to the kitchen, but it abruptly swung open, nearly hitting her.

Her father stepped out, his face twisted with rage.

"Where were you out so late?" He asked, balling up his fists. Rachel didn't answer. He stepped closer. "No answer—as usual… no brain in that head of yours?"

"Um," Rachel moaned, beginning to feel scared.

"Oh, so you've got something to say to me for once?" Her father exclaimed, stepping towards her. There was a malicious gleam in his eye, and Rachel braced herself for the worst.

But before anything could happen, the door swiftly opened, and her mother stomped up to her father accusingly.

"Where do you think you're going with that money?" She barked. "Booze? Some Whores? Planning on making me miserable again?" Her mother began to laugh hysterically, and her face contorted with some emotion Rachel did not recognize.

"Stop laughin'… Get's on my nerves." Her father commanded. "I'm off to buy my own happiness."

"Oh! Is that so? Then while you're out—buy me some happiness too!" Her mother shrieked. "Buy an unhappy wrench like me some happiness!"

Her father swore under his breath. "Not only are you depressed, but you burn through all of the money! And you don't even have a job, you mental case!"

"Oh…" Her mother groaned. "It's always fault, huh?" She began to scream, the shrill sound of her voice hurting Rachel's ears. "You bastard! You've ruined my life! Your brain, body and attitude are completely soaked with booze—"

Her father raised his fist and walloped his lamenting wife, sending her body backwards, hitting the kitchen door. She lowered herself to the floor with a groan, and shakily cradled her head in her hands.

"H-hey, Dad..?" Rachel croaked awkwardly. He didn't answer, he only looked down disapprovingly at his wife.

"Ahhh… Everything about this family is miserable…" he muttered. "Gotta have booze to cope…" He began to walk towards the front door.

Rachel's mother began to stand up. "Don't you walk away from the emhell/em you created!" She cried, stumbling over towards him. "It's you! You're the one who's screwed me up—screwing this emfamily/em up! It's not my fault… It's all emyours!"

Rachel's father spun around, grabbing his wife tightly by her collar.

"Y-you're hurting me—" she cried, before he punched her in the cheek.

"Shut the emfuck/em up, you crazy bitch!" He howled, striking her again.

"Marrying you was the worst thing that's ever happened to me!" Her mother cried, weakly hitting him back, before receiving another blow. She fell backwards onto the floor in front of the couch, before weakly pulling herself up onto it.

Her husband stood in front of her, shoulders rising shakily with every breath. "I don't wanna hit anyone… but yer askin' for it."

He stomped over towards the door, and yanked it open. "Both of you have ruined my life!" He screamed, slamming the door behind him so hard that the walls shook.

Dumbfounded, Rachel stood there a moment, mouth agape. Then she realized why she had confronted her parents in the first place—the puppy.

"M-mom," Rachel began, slowly walking towards her. She was slumped over on the couch, balling her fists in rage. Her face was beginning to swell already, and her nose was bloodied.

"One day… Oh, one day… I… will… kill… him…" She then pulled herself off of the couch and stumbled towards their staircase.

Rachel scrambled over to her. _I've got to make her listen to me..!_

Her mother was inspecting something over by the end table before the staircase, and Rachel peered curiously to see what it was.

"If he lays one more hand on me, I'll use this… and I'll kill him." She muttered to herself, sounding pleased. "When the time comes, he'll be blubbering like a baby… He'll finally bow down to me—and realize I was right all along…"

Rachel slowly stepped towards her mother. "…mom..?" She began.

Her mother spun towards Rachel, beads of sweat lining her forehead, accompanied by an odd-looking smile. "Ray, what is it..?" She asked innocently.

"I've got to talk to you about something, mom…"

"Oh, I can't deal with you right now, dear, the kitchen is a mess, and I've got to clean it up.. I'm not in the mood to listen right now." Her mother said.

"No, please, listen…" Rachel cried. "If I don't ask for your permission first you'll get angry, right?"

Her mother's smile twitched, and she quickly brought her arm to Rachel's face, slapping her so hard that she was sent backwards.

Her mother began to laugh—a shrill, strange laugh that belonged to a madwoman. "Amazing! Even my own daughter won't even listen to me…" Rachel's eyes widened with shock. Her mother usually wasn't the one to hit her.

"Don't you know that your _being here_ has gotten me stuck in this living hell..? I detest your very existence… Dealing with you is like dealing with your worthless father—I'm getting sick to my stomach.

—Now go to your room."

Rachel simply stood there, before a new hope appeared in her mind. "Mom, if I listen to you, will you listen to me..?"

"GO!" Her mother shrieked at her, "Don't make me any more of a cruel and miserable mother than I already am!"

Rachel's brows furrowed in confusion and hurt. "Why won't anyone listen to what I have to say..?" She asked herself. _Wait, what was it that mom had over there in that drawer..? Her secret weapon to make herself… heard? I wonder if it could help me…_

Curiosity pulled Rachel over to the end table, and gingerly, she pulled open the drawer. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw a hand gun slide towards her.

"A-a gun..?" She mused aloud. "What is she… going to do… with that?" _Make herself… heard._

Rachel stood there awhile, before deciding to leave her house to visit that puppy. But before she did, she went to her room to drop off her back. _What am I going to put the puppy in..?_ She scanned her room, before grabbing a box off of her shelf that held numerous books in it that she no longer wanted. She emptied the books onto the floor, and held the box in her hands.

She grabbed her purse and swung it over her shoulder, and snuck quietly out the front door.

It was late now, around eight at night, and it had already become dark outside—and chilly, too. Rachel clenched her cardigan with her free hand and pulled it tight around her for warmth. Her bare legs began to tingle from the cold.

She walked briskly to the alley that the puppy was in, and she just prayed that it was still there.

Luckily, it was… however, it looked to be even more weak. The puppy was lying on it's side, whimpering.

"Oh, poor puppy…" she cooed sympathetically, crouching in front of it and setting the box down. "Would you like to be my puppy..? You're so cute! I promise, I'd take good care of you."

The puppy looked at Rachel, and defensively began to growl, struggling to stand on it's feet. The poor thing had probably been abused…

Just like Rachel.

Tentatively, Rachel put her hand out to pet the puppy, and with surprising strength—due to it's weak state—it clamped it's sharp teeth down on her hand.

She yelped out in pain, and the puppy kept biting down on her hand.

"S-stop! That hurts!" Rachel cried, trying to push the puppy off. It clamped harder on her hand.

Rachel felt a veil of red mask her eyes.

Like her mother and father, the girl raised her hand in the air and brought it down on the pup hard, causing it to yelp in pain and release her hand. It fell over, and frantically began to kick it's legs, looking as if it was going to run away while it was still on it's second wind.

Rachel grabbed the dog by it's abdomen, avoiding it's bites. She slowly stood up, glaring at the struggling puppy she held in her hands.

"Why would you bite me?" She asked, hurt. "I just want to take care of you… let me take care of you..!" Rachel raised the puppy above her head, then hurled it onto the ground. The pup let out a loud yelp, and struggled to get back on it's feet. It began to bark profusely at the girl.

"No good… Why are you barking?" The blonde began to dig in her black purse, eagerly searching for a tool.

"Ah, here we go." She muttered aloud. "This should fix you for now," Grasping a pair of sharp scissors in her hand, she knelt before the puppy once again, who looked at her with it's big, glassy eyes.

"Don't be scared, I'm going to help you… I'm going to fix you, and you'll be the perfect puppy..!" Rachel promised, position her scissors above the dog. " _My perfect_ puppy."

She brought her scissors down into the dog, causing it to shriek loudly. It's blood began to pool over Rachel's hands. Warm. She yanked the scissors out, and even more blood spurted out of it. Rachel thrust the scissors into the puppy a few more times, hoping to take the look of fear out of it's eyes.

Gingerly, she picked up the dying puppy and put it in the box, along with her soiled scissors.

"There, now you're quiet. Mom and Dad wouldn't love you if you were so loud…" She whispered to the box.

Rachel stood up and started to walk home. She walked in haste through the alleys and streets, eager to get home and play with her puppy. Adrenaline was still flowing through her veins, and her breathing was shallow.

As she turned one corner, she bumped into an old man. Wrinkles were etched deeply in his face, but he looked very cheerful.

"Ah! Sorry missy," The old man exclaimed with a wide grin.

"Don't worry, it's fine." Rachel curtly replied. The man surveyed her body, and his grin slowly faded into a confused smile.

"What's in the box?" He asked innocently.

Rachel glanced at the box she held in her arms. She could feel the wetness of the puppies blood on her hands, and she noticed that there were a few splotches of vermillion stain on her sleeves.

"It's my puppy…" She murmured, tightening her grip on the box. "I'm taking him home."

"Oh, a puppy..? How cute!" The old man exclaimed. "May I see it? I do hope it's not suffocating in there!"

"N-no, I'm sorry. I really must take him home," Rachel cried. "I haven't fixed him yet."

The old man gave her a confused look, but before he could question her, Rachel bolted off towards her home. It took only a couple minutes to make it, and she sighed in relief as she entered the front door.

"This is your new home," She whispered to the box. Hoping to avoid her mother for now, she crept up the stairs quietly, holding her breath. She pushed open her slightly opened door and kicked it shut with her foot, sighing in relief.

She set the box down on her floor, sitting down behind it.

"Now I can fix you," She said with a small smile. Rachel pulled out her sewing kit from her purse, and readied her thread and needle. Opening the box, she peered at the puppy.

"Oh, you don't look so good, puppy… But don't worry—I'm going to fix you up! You'll be the cutest puppy in the world…" She said, gazing into it's glazed eyes. Rachel frowned. "Oh, but your eyes… They're a really gross colour…"

The blonde stood up, and walked over towards her toy chest. She dug through it, until she paused a moment, making a pleased sound. What she held in her hands was a stuffed Rabbit, with beautiful, green eyes.

"Wow, you'd look so cute with these eyes! Much better than those murky ones." She mused, sitting back down behind the box containing the puppy.

Rachel grabbed the scissors back out from the box, and used them to dig out the puppies cloudy eyes. They felt squishy in her hands. She then cut out the eyes from her stuffed rabbit, and sewed them onto the puppy.

"Wow, they look so good!" She exclaimed. "Perfect… Now I just need to fix the rest of you…"

The young girl began to sew up the gashes she inflicted on the puppy, taking pleasure in closing each wound. Rachel became so absorbed in her work, she didn't hear her door slam open, or her father scream in disgust.

Rachel only came to after she had _fixed_ her puppy.

"Ah, good boy… you're such a good boy…" She crooned, petting the dead puppy she cradled on her lap. "I could eat you up—Oh, I want you to stay with me emforever/em!"

She could hear the sound of more dishes being smashed downstairs, and plenty of banging.

Her puppy was probably scared. "Oh no, don't be scared… Everything is okay." She reassured it, stroking it's soft ears.

"It's all your fault! She's all fucked up because you're a crazy fuckin' bitch!" She heard her father scream downstairs, followed by the sound of something else smashing onto the ground.

"No—It's your fault that kid isn't right!" Her mother retorted.

Rachel's heart skipped a beat, and she felt her body become cold.

Her father howled. "I can't fucking take this anymore!"

"H-hey, what the hell are you doing..!" Her mother cried, fear in her voice. Something else smashed onto the ground, and then Rachel's mother screamed. It was a shrill shriek that pierced Rachel's ears, and put fear in her heart. She had never heard her scream like that before.

Shakily, Rachel stood up after gingerly setting her puppy back into the box and closing the lid. "Gosh, it's really bad today…" She murmured aloud. "I'll take a peek…"

Rachel's legs began to quake as she tentatively made her way to the kitchen—where she was sure they were fighting again. She hesitated before opening the door to the kitchen, but figured there wasn't anything to be afraid of.

She was wrong.

Her father straddled her mother's body, and he held a large kitchen knife in his hands. He thrust the blade into her abdomen, _over and over and over_ again. Each time, the sound of the knife piercing her mother's flesh rung in her ears, causing Rachel to flinch.

Her blood pooled and spilled over the kitchen floor, and the air reeked of it.

Rachel simply stood there, completely dumbfounded. After what had seemed like forever, her father finally stopped stabbing his wife, and sat there, catching his breath. Slowly, he turned his head around to look at Rachel.

"…What are you doing?" He snapped, his face deranged. Rachel couldn't answer. Her father shakily stood up. "So… you saw that, huh? Didn't you?"

"I couldn't stand her anymore…" He muttered, slowly stepping towards Rachel. "She was making me miserable… _Everything_ here makes me miserable…" He inched even closer, gripping onto the bloody knife. "So… now it's your turn to die..!"

Rachel gasped, and scrambled out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

 _How awful… Sickening…_ She frowned. Rachel was about to simply run out the front door, but she remembered about her puppy in her room. _Oh no, I have to get my puppy.._!

Rachel began to run towards the staircase, but stopped in front of the end table before the stairs. _Mom was… hiding a gun, just for this moment… I guess.. It would be okay if I toke it, then…_

She pulled open the drawer, and reluctantly grabbed the gun, and ran to her room.

Standing before the box that held her puppy, she sighed in relief. "You're okay… don't worry, everything will be fine…" Rachel reassured it. "I… don't really have a choice but to…" She tightened the grip on the gun.

The door jostled open, and her father stumbled in, a deranged, mad look on his face. When he saw Rachel cowering near the box, he began to chuckle.

"Do you think your father is crazy, Ray? But you're just as crazy as me…" He mused. "Runnin' to your room to talk to that— _thing_ , something's _not_ right with you…"

He gestured to the bloody box holding her puppy.

"Hey, open that box." He commanded, Rachel hesitated, but she did it. Her father chuckled again. "Ah, just as I thought—you're _insane_!" He inspected the puppy a little closer before gagging. "What the fuck did you do too that dog? It's a patchwork corpse! That dog…

—You killed it, didn't you..?"

Rachel stayed quiet, looking down at her puppy in shame. _I only wanted to… fix it…_

Her father came closer, looking at her accusingly. "Did sticking up it's belly and mouth feel good, you _freak_?!"

"…No." Rachel answered. "It… just became… 'mine'…" She held the gun even tighter in her hands, fingering the trigger. "It became my _perfect_ puppy."

Her father looked at her hands, and his face whitened when he realized what she was holding.

"Hey, Dad… become my…." Rachel began, pointing the gun towards her father, eyes once again being shielded by the veil of red. "Become my… _perfect_ Daddy..!"

 _Bang_.

 _Bang_.

 _Bang_.

Three shots, and her father was down on the ground, blood spilling out from his body. _So much blood…_

"It's alright, Daddy…" Rachel smiled.

"I'll fix you."


	5. Chapter 5 - I'll make you perfect

Isaac Foster shoved his bandaged hand deep into his trouser pockets, slouching intimidatingly while he walked through the crowd downtown. With each step, he aggressively swung his shoulders, making for the perfect, fear-mongering saunter. The people around him looked at him fearfully, and some even muttered insults under their breath at the young man.

Zack supposed they feared his bandaged body, and were perhaps intimidated by his big, husky build. It also could've even been his saunter. He worked hard on that—so it was doing it's job.

Usually, the killer made more of an effort to hide his face—mostly his bandages covering his burns, but he was rather exposed in his new uniform. It was hard. Zack could ditch the bandages, but people would be drawn to his burn scars. Covering them with bandages, though, made him look like a freakin' mummy. There wasn't really any other option for him, so he just decided to hide his appearance. At least they wouldn't call him a _monster_ or a _freak_ because of the scars.

The look of disdain and judgement on their faces still disgusted him—made his blood _boil_.

He wanted to go ahead and kill the whole crowd… but even Isaac knew that he wouldn't be able to kill them _all_. There was simply too many to kill at once, and he could not afford there being any witnesses. The _Pigs in Blue_ were hot on his tail, and Zack didn't want to get thrown in the slammer.

No, he decided that his death will come on his _own_ terms.

So, to lay low, the killer took to killing randoms who mistakenly roam the alleys… The streets were always filled to the brim with meat-bags—especially downtown, so he couldn't go killing there. The alleys offered a small bit of privacy, not many people dared to venture them, even the police… after all, it was a known fact that most of those piteous souls who ventured those alleys never came back.

The young man felt the need to blow off some steam, so he decided to go find a more isolated block in town, away from the hustle of the popular downtown area. Isaac loathed sitting around and waiting for people to stumble into the alley, but he felt he had no choice…

 _Gotta lay low…_

He sauntered for a while until he came across the really scummy part of town, where a majority of the buildings were abandoned—save for the thugs and scamps who squatted in them.

The streets were poorly illuminated by flickering light posts—an attempt to make the area _safer_ … it didn't work too good, because people were still getting shanked daily in the scummy areas of town. Garbage littered the streets, and the noise of big rats scuttling across the pavement echoed in the alleys… It was a befitting environment for the human trash who stuck around.

Zack excitedly grasped his knife and pulled it out of his shoe, casually carrying it in his right hand. He somewhat patiently roamed the empty streets.

People avoided going out at nighttime, as the people feared that they would get murdered by the infamous serial killer— _Zack_. They were right to be scared. Isaac was not the kind to spare his victims… regardless of age and gender.

He was sure that he's killed plenty of children before. And obviously, he had killed women before. Just because they were young or the " _fairer sex_ ", Zack believed they didn't deserve to be spared anymore than some adult male should. The notion was ridiculous. They were all scumbags… prancing around with their goofy grins, and being… happy.

Plus, killing a family usually gave Isaac immense joy. He hated families more than anything.

After killing a few children and women, he saw less of them walking out alone. For some reason, they thought that walking with a man would help to save them.

Oh, were they wrong.

Eventually, Zack stopped in his tracks, to see a family of three walking through an alleyway to his left. A malicious smile began to creep onto his face.

It appeared to be a very stereotypical, _perfect, happy_ family… A father, a mother, and a little child, walking harmoniously, with the child in the middle. Both the parents held on to one of the child's hands, and sometimes, the child would lift it's feet off of the ground, and the parents would lift it up, and the child would swing.

The sight made Zack's blood boil—even more than watching the usual happy saps.

It was just like the cheesy shit that he had witnessed on the sappy Lifetime movies he occasionally saw on Gray's television. They annoyed him so much that he had once kicked in the televisions screen to stop it.

And he was going to do the same thing to this family.

Isaac began to swiftly approach the family, who were ignorant of his approach. Once he was at a comfortable distance, he stopped, and began to confront them.

"Hey there," He greeted casually. The family froze in their tracks, and the father and mother's heads snapped back towards Zack. Their eyes were struck with fear, and the hesitated before talking back.

"W-who are you..?" The father asked, defensively stepping closer to his child.

"Me..? I'm called a lot of things…" Zack mused. "' _The Psycho Killer'_ , ' _freak_ ', ' _monster_ '… But I call myself _Zack_." The parent's forms shrivelled with fear, and their child became frightened.

"You mean that you're t- _that_ serial killer? The one that's been on the news the past few years..?" The mother asked fearfully.

"Yup." Isaac grunted.

"Daddy, is he going to kill us..?" The child cried. His father held onto it's shoulders, and kissed it on the forehead. _Disgusting_.

"…No. Go with mommy. I'll be there with you in a sec." he said, shoving his child into the arms of his wife. They shared a long, somber look, and Zack audibly gagged.

"Well, how's about I give you three a head start?" Zack asked, adrenaline beginning to pump in his veins. "Usually, I only give people to the count of three, but I'm feeling generous… I'll give ya _five_."

Zack wanted to drag this out a little, have some fun watching the family's faces distort with agony.

The parent's looked at him suspiciously, and began to open their mouths and question him, but Isaac began his count.

"Five," He drawled. The family was rendered frozen.

"Four," The father pushed the mother and child away, and he began to approach Isaac, fear in his eyes.

 _Heh, he's gonna sacrifice himself to save his ugly-ass wife an' brat._

"Three,"

"Two," The little child tripped, and the mother struggled to pick it up.

"One," Isaac readied his knife, and eyed the man sacrificing his life so that his family could hopefully escape.

"Time's up, ya should've ran with yer family..!" The killer bolted towards the father, and held his knife to his throat, grabbing him by the collar with the other hand. The man weakly raised his arm to defend himself, but Isaac overpowered him, keeping his knife against him.

"Look how quickly yer happy fuckin' grin turned into a wince filled with despair!" Isaac howled, cackling insanely. The father squirmed.

"Please, please don't hurt us..!" He cried, tears rolling down his face. "We're a family… have some pity!" Zack spat in his face.

"Families were made to be broken," The killer sneered, quickly thrusting his knife into the man's throat.

Blood spurted from his neck, and he began to sputter. Isaac could feel his blood splatter onto his face, and pool onto his hand. He shoved the man down to the ground, cackling loudly.

Isaac sprinted past him, spotting the mother and child in the distance, maybe only fifty metres away. As he drew closer, his laughs grew louder, the sound ricocheting off the alley walls, filling the area with his insane laughs. It toke only seconds for Zack to catch up to them. He grabbed them by the hair on their heads, and forcefully shoved them to the ground.

"N-no!" The woman cried, gathering the small child in her arms. They hit the ground hard, and both had cried out in pain.

The dark walls of the alley threw back the echoes of his guffaws and chortles, amplifying the looks of fear on both the mother and the child's face.

"Please… please don't k-kill us, _please_ ," The woman beseeched him, fluids flowing out of every orifice on her face.

She looked pathetic—just how Zack liked his victims.

"Oh, the look on your face is _terrific_! Gimme more of it!" Zack screeched, kneeling over them. "Lose all hope.! Squirm, struggle, writhe in _despair_!"

"Don't hurt us please!" The child screamed, tears spilling from it's eyes.

"Nobody's gonna help ya, brat! Yer gonna die!" Zack laughed in it's face, pinning his knife against it's small throat. The child began to cry harder, choking on it's sobs.

"Please, no…" The mother cried. Weakly grasping Zack's arm. He turned his attention towards her, and grinned.

"I'll give ya a choice, lady…" The killer giggled. "Decide, who's gonna get stabbed first..?" The mother choked on a sob, and shut her eyes tight, grasping her child's hand.

"No..! Please don't make me do that—please just kill _me_ , don't hurt my baby!" She cried.

"Sorry, 'fraid I can't do that. Don't wanna. I don't let my _victims_ get away from me.." Isaac muttered. "So, ya wanna watch yer kid die, or do ya want it to watch you die..?"

"I don't wanna die, mommy..!" The little brat choked.

"No, p- _please_ don't do this…" the woman cried.

"Y'know, I really enjoy seein' ya mope like that, but I'm also gettin' impatient. I'm givin' ya a choice, so jus' take it—or ya won't get one!"

The woman merely began to sob harder, along with the little brat, and their cries echoed throughout the dank alley. Seeing that she would not make a decision, Zack stuck his knife in the mother's neck, leaving the child to witness the death of it's mother.

It screamed and shut it's eyes tight, face turning red. Zack began to laugh again, taking pleasure in the despair ridden face of the child.

"How does it _feel_? To watch your mommy die?!" Isaac asked, spitting in the child's face. It answered with harsher cries, burying it's face in it's dead mother's shoulder.

The killer ripped the knife out of the woman's neck, then thrust it into the child's skull without hesitation, easily cracking it's skull.

Her father's body sure was heavy.

Rachel had hooked her arms under his armpits and begun to drag him downstairs. She knew that he had to be fixed, but first she decided he should apologize to her mother for stabbing her. Dragging him proved to be extremely difficult, though.

His weight most likely exceeded one-hundred and eighty pounds, and Rachel was a mere, scrawny thirteen year old. However, her dedication to move him downstairs gave her the strength she needed to prevail. Eventually, she had hauled her father all the way down the stairs and into the living room.

With great effort—and a lot of heaving, Rachel pushed her father onto the couch and sat him there, falling back beside him.

"Whew, you're sure heavy, father!" She cried, panting. "Here—you wait here while I grab mother. Then I'll fix the both of you."

Rachel quickly regained her stamina, and skipped into the kitchen.

Her mother lay there stilly, her blood pooled around her, staining her clothes red. Slowly, Rachel approached her, studying her form.

"Hi, mom," She greeted quietly, looking into her still opened eyes. "Father sure did quite the number on you, huh? You don't really look like my mom anymore… You're so… _pitiful_." Rachel mused, looking under her mother's soiled clothes at her stab wounds. "Don't worry, though, I'll fix you up. You'll… you'll finally be a happy, wonderful mother… _my perfect mother_."

Like her father, Rachel hooked her thin arms under her mother's armpits, and begun to drag her to the living room. Thankfully, she was a lot lighter than father. It was less of a struggle hauling her around. Rachel noticed that her mother was leaving a pool of blood behind her, and she became annoyed.

"Mom, you're leaving a mess behind you…" The girl complained.

Finally, after more strenuous effort, Rachel had hauled her mother up onto the couch with her father. Rachel, quite exerted, decided to fall back onto the couch in-between them. She felt their bodies lean on hers, and her heart begun to beat excitedly.

They were… snuggling.

Their bodies were still warm—albeit a little _wet_ , but Rachel gathered their hands in hers, taking pleasure from their closeness. Tentatively, she leaned her head on her father's shoulder, then switched to her mother's.

"Mom, Dad," she begun, tears forming in her eyes. "I'm so happy that we can do this…" Rachel sat there in-between her parents a little while longer, basking in their warmth.

Eventually, she could feel their bodies cool a little, and she decided to retrieve her sewing kit to fix them. Rachel ran up the stairs, a wide grin on her face. Beside the box holding her puppy, she spotted her sewing kit. She knelt down before the kit, scooping it in her arms.

"Oh, my puppy!" She exclaimed, peeking into the box. "Would you like to come with me and meet my mom and dad?"

Gingerly, she took the box in her other arm, travelling downstairs.

"Hey mom, dad, I'd like for you to meet my puppy!" She exclaimed, shoving the box on the laps of her parents. "Isn't he cute?" Rachel asked, plopping down on the ground before them and readying her needle.

"I found him in an alleyway earlier. I wanted to ask your permission earlier, but neither of you would listen to me..!" Rachel murmered. "Well, at least you'll listen to me now… Can we keep him, then..?"

The girl looked up expectingly at her parents, awaiting their answer. A few seconds passed, then her eyes lit up.

"Yay! I promise that I'll take good care of him!" Rachel sang out. "Now, I should fix you… but who first..? Mom, maybe?"

The girl surveyed her two parents, and her mother definitely looked worse for wear. She had sustained a _lot_ of stab wounds… evidence of how much her father had despised her. Well, Rachel was going to fix that. She decided then that her mother would be the first to be fixed.

"Alright, mom, you should probably take off your blouse now, so I can stitch up your wounds." Rachel ordered, before pausing a moment. "Oh, you must be feeling quite sore… Here—I'll help you take it off."

Gingerly, Rachel unbuttoned her mother's bloodied blouse, then opened it to reveal the gashes on her abdomen. Rachel counted around twenty-eight stab wounds on her body. She frowned to herself before picking up her readied needle, and getting to work.

With skill, the girl closed the gashes on her mother's stomach. Her little fingers explored each wound gently, feeling her mother's lukewarm blood within. With each wound she closed came a sense of joy, a sense of her mother becoming hers. It toke a while, but Rachel was finally finished fixing her.

"There you go, mother, I fixed it. Just as if father had never hurt you." The little girl chirped, studying her work. "There still is an awful lot of blood, though… Let me grab some wash clothes to clean you up."

Rachel ran to the kitchen, wetting sevral washcloths with soap and water, then grabbed some dry as well. She returned to the couch in the living room with a smile on her face. "Here, mother, the washcloths are nice and warm… soon you'll be all clean..!" She washed the blood off with a smile on her face, happy to be fixing her mother.

"There..!" She exclaimed, wiping off the last remnants of the blood. "You're not perfect yet, but I have to start fixing father now, or else he may feel left out."

Surveying her father, Rachel found that he was a lot less messy than her mother.

He only sustained four gunshots to his abdomen compared to her mother's twenty-eight stab wounds, so he was a little less bloody. But, the problem here would be fishing out the bullets. Rachel certainly couldn't leave them in there, but retrieving them might prove difficult.

The girl pondered over how she was going to go about fixing her father, when an idea struck her.

She hastily ran to her parent's room, searching for her mother's makeup bag. It was sitting on their dresser, already opened. The girl stuck her hands inside, searching for the tweezers. A long time ago, she had witnessed her mother in the bathroom using them to pluck out hairs on her skin. Rachel surmised that they would be perfect for fishing out the bullets within her father, too.

Rachel ran back downstairs to her father.

"Alright, dad, I'm going to get those nasty bullets out of you." Rachel begun to lift his t-shirt up, looking for his bullet holes. The first one was right above his belly button. Tentatively, she grabbed her longest needle and began to probe inside of the bullet hole, feeling for any hard surface. Blood began to pour out of the wound once more, as she opened the wound a little. She could feel the warmth of the blood bask her fingers, and run down her arm.

Finally, she felt something hard, not too deep within her fathers stomach. With one hand, she held the needle there while grasping for the tweezers with the other. Rachel stuck the tweezers in the bullet hole, and poked around for the bullet before struggling to get a hold on it.

Several times, she would get a somewhat good grip on the bullet, but then as she pulled the tweezers back, it would slip out of it.

It was an ordeal, but eventually she got the bullet out of her father's stomach, and she discarded it on the ground.

"Whew, one down, two more to go!" Rachel exclaimed.

The other two weren't any easier to fish out, but she had managed. Rachel noticed her hands and forearms were absolutely coated in blood, and it had begun to dry and feel sticky.

"Ew." She groaned. "Okay, father, time to close your bullet holes." Rachel announced casually.

The young girl easily closed the gaping holes. Then begun to clean his chest by wiping away all of the blood. Finally, her father was almost fixed, too. Rachel begun to feel a little tired, and decided she would take a break and grab a glass of water in the kitchen.

"Would you two like anything..?" She asked her parents.

They didn't answer, so Rachel assumed they were satisfied. She walked to the kitchen alone,and begun to wash her hands and arms of the blood that coated them.

The whole dining set was demolished—save for _one_ chair.

 _Wow, they had one heck of a fight…_ Rachel mused.

Once she had tamed her shallow breaths, the girl returned to her parents once again. The living room had gotten even darker as the sun finally set, and it become hard to see.

I _'ll have to light some candles… since the power's off again…. There, that's better._

Rachel walked back up to her parents. She noticed how they looked… sullen, perhaps a little tired. Her mother's eyes had begun to cloud a little, and the bags underneath her eyes had darkened. Her father looked pretty bad, too. His eyes were also clouded a bit, and both of them sported frowns.

"It'd be nice if you two could smile… Hey—I can help you with that." Rachel piped up. "I can sew your mouths so that you'll be smiling..!" She excitedly grasped for another needle, not wanting to use the bloodied ones.

Rachel wanted their smiles to look as natural as possible, so she threaded her needle with the most natural-looking thread to match their skin colour. She sat herself between them on the couch, and begun to poke and prod at her mother's mouth, attempting to form a smile.

"Gosh, this is going to be rather hard," Rachel muttered to herself.

With one finger, Rachel held up her mother's lips so that they curved upwards, then stuck her needle through the corner of her lips and stitched it through her cheek. Thin beads of blood spurt out of the punctures from her needle, dribbling down her chin.

It sort of worked. The left side of her mother's mouth was held up by the few stitches, forming a small curve. Rachel repeated the same process on the right side of her mother's lips, then did the same to her father.

"Wow, you both look so happy when you smile…" Rachel mused, gazing at her parents. "Hm… What shall I do next..?"

She wiped the blood off of her parent's mouths and chins, then sat beside both of them. Rachel toke notice of the box near her feet, and lifted her puppy out of it, settling it on her lap.

"You're both perfect, now." Rachel said, lovingly gazing at her parents. "My perfect parents…" She grabbed their arms and wrapped herself within them, getting comfortable.

Eventually, the girl drifted off to sleep in her dead parent's arms, cradling her patchwork-puppy.


	6. Chapter 6 - One Year

_Another day of work._

The spastic screeching of an alarm clock rang through the house, piercing Zack's ears. He swung his arm around, searching for the noisy clock. "Where the fuck are you..?" He groaned, falling to find it.

The noise grew louder, prompting him to sit up. The springs of the pull-out creaked, and Zack surveyed the room for the source of the blaring noise with a disgruntled sigh. _Ah—there it is..!_ He spotted the alarm clock on the side of the couch on the floor.

"Seven Twenty-One", it read.

Isaac leaned over the arm of the sofa, and slammed the alarm clock with a heavy fist. As per usual, the robust killer underestimated his strength, and upon impact with his hand the clock was smashed flat on the ground. He lay there a moment, realizing where he was—and what he was wearing.

He had retreated to Gray's place late last night, after murdering some people that he had stumbled upon while roaming the streets after work. As a result—his uniform was drenched with blood… Gray was right to warn him, to fully get all of the stains out of his uniform would be impossible.

When the killer walked into Gray's house, he had nothing to wear, so he shed off his bloodied uniform and bandages and slept in just his boxers.

Isaac sighed, rolling out of bed. He hoped that the priest wouldn't see him in all of his fucked-up glory.

The sun having not completely risen yet, leaving the room dark. Somewhere among the darkness lay his scythe, which his foot had found with a harsh kick. He swore in pain as he stumbled over his weapon, before picking up the scythe and throwing it onto the pull-out.

"Ah—I see you're awake, now." Gray had abruptly emerged from his bedroom, nearly hitting Zack with the door. "Good morning, Isaac… uh… is there a reason you're lacking clothing..?"

"It's Zack, and for fuck's sake, 'ol man—why ya gotta sneak up on me?!" The young man bashfully threw his arms in front of his body in an attempt to cover his nakedness.

"Well, it is _my_ house…" Gray explained.

"Ugh—whatever. But why ya gotta make me get up at the crack of fuckin' ugly?!" The young man cried, rubbing the bags under his eyes. "This past week has been hell…"

"Well, you need a good amount of time to prepare for work, Isaac… Did you get a bad sleep or something?" Gray asked. Zack nodded his head. "…As expected. But you mustn't blame me for feeling tired— _you_ were the one who as out late last night… killing innocent people, I can presume..?"

Wow. The priest was trying to _guilt-trip_ him… Little did Gray know, monsters don't feel empathy.

Isaac smirked, then stuck his hand against the wall and leant on it. "What else would I be doing on a Friday night?" He queried, his voice etched with pride.

There was no point in lying—Zack _liked_ to kill.

"Isaac, I must say that I do not approve of your actions last night… Remember, you are only supposed to kill those who I deem worthy as sacrifices at the cafe… You're supposed to be lying low now, aren't you?"

"Ugh, I didn't feel like waitin' till ya got some scumbag locked up in there, though!" The killer retorted, walking past the priest into the washroom. Although he had slammed the door, Gray had refused to end their conversation.

"Isaac Foster—you slaughtered an _innocent_ family… Do you feel no remorse?"

Zack stood at the door a moment, reflecting on his actions thoughtfully. _Remorse_..? He couldn't say he had ever felt remorse. That family… they weren't any more undeserving of death than his other victims were.

"…No. That was almost a week ago, anyways." He answered simply, kicking off his boxer briefs and stepping into the shower.

"'Tis a wretched thing… what you do, Isaac Foster."

 _Gross_. The old man was trying to guilt trip him. Huh, if that ain't a bit of deja vu.

It was unusual for the young man to remember one of his kills, but that family had been annoying him the whole week. They were so… _loving_. It was weird. _Love_ was something that Isaac had never known, so to him, it was only natural that he'd try to eradicate it.

 _'_ _Humans fear the unknown._ '

" _Hah… they sure do.._ "

The hot water soothed his skin, and Isaac moaned in pleasure. The pulse of the water was strong, releasing a little of the tension in the husky-man's muscles. He stayed in the shower for a while, lathering himself up with a soap that he held a certain fondness for. Zack loved the scent.

It was deep and musky, a similar scent that he had smelled on some of the pretentious weight-lifting assholes he had murdered in an alley nearby a gym downtown.. They may have been narcissistic meat-bags, but even Zack had to admit—they smelled pretty good… Good enough that Isaac strove to smell like them.

Backstreets-Zack had the stench of a dumpster etched into his skin, and the tangy scent of sweat etched into his clothes—not to forget, the unmistakable, metallic smell of blood (not his own, of course).

Domesticated Zack, however, had the musky fragrance of mahogany and teakwood… _Refreshing_ and _refined_.

Isaac finished his shower a little while later, after scrubbing his scalp with a good-smelling shampoo. He climbed out of the shower, only to be met with one of the most annoying tribulations…

There weren't any _fucking_ towels.

He stood on the small bath mat outside of the tub, feeling the cool air hit his wet, bare skin. It was… the worst feeling that he had ever felt. Despite being slathered with burn scars, Isaac Foster was not the kind of man who liked the feeling of being cold. Nope—he loved feeling warm…

As long as it wasn't _Flames-Burning-My-Skin-I-Feel-Like-I'm-Melting_ warm.

But the longer he mused over the temperature, Isaac longed more for a towel. But… where _were_ the towels..? Even after a week of living at Gray's, Zack was unfamiliar with the house. Specifically, where the linen closet may be located.

It wasn't his fault—he was just used to Gray doing all of that stuff for him… Kind of like a spoiled child. _Welp_ , there was only one option for the cold, shaking man.

"GRAY!" He hollered, climbing back into the shower and hiding behind the curtain. He grew impatient as water began to cool even more, trickling down his body, and Gray had not responded. Zack beckoned him once again. Shortly—to his relief, there was a knock on the door.

"Yes, Isaac?" Gray asked, cracking open the door a little.

"I need a towel—and some bandages," Zack ordered. "Also, an extra uniform… The other one was, uh… it got ruined last night."

Gray huffed disappointedly, before silently leaving to fetch the young man what he had asked for.

Isaac had developed yet another uncharacteristic trait from living with Gray. He had become… rather _dependent_ on the priest. Trusting him and asking him for help often. Zack couldn't remember a time where anyone bent over backwards for him, and he appreciated Gray's hospitality…

Although he would never admit that.

"I'll just leave these outside of the door, Isaac." Gray hollered from outside.

Zack's cheeks grew hot. He knew from witnessing many people's interactions that he should now thank the old man, but he simply couldn't bring himself to thank him.

"I…" he began, mumbling. "I appreciate it."

Gray's footsteps ceased for a moment, probably shocked from Isaac's moment of sincerity. "You're welcome," The priest replied, beginning to walk away again.

Out of frustration, Isaac facepalmed, stepping out of the shower. He shivered a little, the water on his body chilling him. Zack cautiously opened the door, hoping that Gray wasn't anywhere nearby to catch him butt-naked.

Thankfully, he wasn't, and Isaac was able to safely retrieve the bundle that the priest had left out for him. A little smile crept upon his lips as Zack noticed another tube of cream within the bundle. Graciously, he slathered it onto his body. It even smelled good, too. Quite unusual for burn cream.

It took a while for him to finally bandage his upper body and face, and before Zack could begin to wrap his arms, he paused as a thought entered his mind. In his prior days of training, his arms would become drenched due to various tasks involving washing dishes and fishing out clothes out of sanitizer buckets. Isaac supposed that he shouldn't bother bandaging his arms.

Fully bandaged, he stepped into his pants, and was caught off guard when he had to tug a little to get them up past his mid thighs.

"What the fuck?" The young man cursed, struggling once more to yank the pants up all the way. "Don't tell me—my _cock's_ gotten bigger..?" He inspected his crotch, not noticing any difference.

"Ah, fuck. There's to hopin'…" _Hey, even serial killers and monsters can dream._ "But still, why're my pants so fuckin' tight?" Isaac checked himself out in the mirror, and cringed when he saw how tight they were on his limbs.

There was an obvious bulge revealing the approximate size of his crotch, and the taut fabric left nothing for the imagination in the rear. Zack cursed, feeling himself grow angry. "Creepy fuckin' priest..!"

He hastily threw his arms into the sleeves of the white button-up, noticing how that, too, had become tighter. Isaac could feel his muscles straining under the rigid fabric, and he had begun to get a sense of how uncomfortable his day was about to get.

Isaac leaned against the bus stop sign, keeping his distance from the few tired-looking people lounging about the bench. Their eyes shot beams of intimidation and judgement into Zack's core, and he loathed when people would stare at him with disgust.

But he couldn't kill them right now.

His latest killing sprees had put the whole _state_ in distress. Even hopping cities wasn't putting the pigs off of his trail. Gray said that they had documented all of his recent killings in the newspapers, and were connecting all of the murders that had occurred by Isaac's hand.

So, he really did have to lay low.

Though it was proving to be extremely hard… as Isaac had gone on several killing sprees the past week. He just couldn't help it. Zack would just find himself _fiending_ to kill. Not only was murder a way to get rid of problems, it served as a stress outlet _and_ a way to bring him satisfaction and elation.

Looks like he'll just have to find something else to entertain him.

"Hi, my name's Catherine Ward!" A buxom blond in a tight-fitting maid-like uniform exclaimed, thrusting her hand forward for Isaac to shake. The young man quickly surveyed her form, noting her short blonde hair with pink tips, her curvy build and her smug expression.

Isaac waved her hand away and shuffled uncomfortably over to the counter, his third leg became sensitive from rubbing against the tight jeans, and it began to annoy the fuck out of him.

"U-um…" She stuttered, her wide grin shrinking. Then she looked down at his bulge. "Oh… Oh my god."

Cathy began to snicker, eventually bursting out in laughter. _God, her mouth was really fucking wide. Gross. She looked like a fucking horse..!_

"Holy shit, I can see the entire outline of your dick." Cathy exclaimed, clutching to her shirt. "Wow, it's—"

"Shut the fuck up ya fuckin' bitch! Stop talkin' bout my junk ya creep!" Isaac snapped, clenching his fists so hard that he figured he probably drew blood. "Fuckin' pants shrunk… and I had nothin' else to wear."

"Oh, isn't that lovely," Cathy murmured, unashamedly gazing down with a small smile on her face. "Ah—anyways, did you tell me your name..?"

"Zack." He growled, picking at the fabric suffocating him.

 _Fuck Gray, fuck whoever made these small of fucking pants and fuck me for being so damn sensitive..!_

Catherine stepped closer to him, smiling. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Zack." She continued to inch closer until she was in close-proximity to Isaac. "You've already made quite the impression, but… I've also heard some things about you from Gray… I must say, it's an honour to finally meet the sinner who's thrown the whole state into fear and chaos..!"

Her face was inches away from Zack's, causing him to feel agitated. And—there was also the fact that she had begun callin' out for being a serial killer immediately after hitting on him… That was pretty awkward.

"Don't fuckin' talk to me! You don't know _shit_ about me." He barked defensively, shoving her backwards. "And it's pretty condescendin' to call me a sinner—when you're probably a fuckin' nutcase too! I mean, why else would you be in this place..?"

"—Working solely for the right to _kill_."

Cathy staggered back, then scowled at Zack. "How _dare_ you shove a lady?!" She shrieked. "I suppose I shouldn't expect anything more from a sinner like you… but to answer your question, I am not a sinner—I am the _condemner_. I execute punishments onto sinners who deserve it."

"—After all, it's only natural to punish sinners… is it not?"

Zack shot her a disgusted look. "Fuckin' creepy-ass sadistic pervert-bitch." He muttered, lifting himself up from the counter and walking towards the kitchen.

To his surprise, Gray was standing behind the grill, prepping for breakfast. The grill was a fair size, accompanied by a propane burner with two elements. A plethora of spices resided on shelves above the grill, a flurry of colours. Behind the grill was a counter, three stacks of plates sat an arm's length from the inside of the counter, along with a napkin dispenser.

To the right of the grill were two deep fryers, shiny and new.

"How the fuck did you get over here..?!" Isaac cried, approaching Gray.

"Ah—Isaac!" He exclaimed, turning his attention to the serial killer. "I drove here a while after you departed for the bus stop."

"Huh?! How come ya didn't give me a ride then?"

"You must first learn responsibility before you earn that right, Isaac…" Gray decreed. "Now go with Cathy—you must help her get ready for our _Grand Opening_!"

"This is bullshit..! Fuckin' prick…" Zack muttered, hesitating a bit before stomping over to the buxom waitress.

 _'_ _Earn the responsibility'—my ass..!_

Cathy, who was setting silverware out in a plastic tray on the coffee island, sharply turned her head towards Zack when she heard him approaching.

"Oh—so you come back?" Cathy laughed shrilly, leaving the coffee island and walking over behind the counter.

Zack shot Cathy a look of disgust. She was exactly the type of person that he didn't like…

"Only 'cause I gotta." Zack barked.

"Here, let me review some of the things you need to know for opening."

"No need," Isaac stopped her, "Danny _Dickhead_ and Gray taught me everythin' I gotta know."

And what a fuckin' week that was. Those days were long, and usually set Isaac in a bad mood. Being told what to do was one of his pet peeves—and also something that occurred regularly in jobs. But… Isaac took the barking orders differently than most.

 _A tool_ … Yeah, that was a good word to describe how he felt. Like a tool… As if he was still a child, obeying orders like some mutt. He became a monster so that he wouldn't have to be a tool anymore, but… In the end, monster or not, it seemed that Isaac Foster could not escape his destiny as a _tool_.

"Great! So… we're opening in about ten minutes, so be a doll and wipe down all of the tables before then." Cathy ordered.

Another order. Another shove closer to the edge of insanity. Zack had broken once before—and many times after that… and it seemed like he would break again soon.

"Eh..?! Don't fuckin' order _me_ around!" Isaac howled.

Cathy sighed, and before she could open her mouth to justify her commands, Gray peeked out from the kitchen, shooting Isaac a reprimanding glare.

"Isaac, Catherine is your supervisor. You must do what she says." He commanded shortly, with a pleading look on his face that basically said, _"Please don't kill Cathy…!"_

Zack's brows furrowed, and he sighed. "Fine..!" He sunk his hands into a sanitizer bucket that sat on the counter, fishing for a cloth. Grasping onto one, he lifted it out of the water and wrung it out. Pensively, he strode over to the tables and began wiping them all.

His arms scrubbed the tables quite aggressively, so that he nearly knocked one over. He hated himself… He hated being a _tool_

They were all wooden, but quite light-looking. Daniel had told the trainee that there was around seventy to eighty tables, and each table had two chairs to it. It seemed like Gray was expecting a lot of business.

"Hey, you have to wipe under those shakers, Zack." Cathy scolded him from behind the counter.

Isaac bit his tongue to avoid lashing out at the woman barking at him, and begun to lift the salt and pepper shakers up before wiping the tables.

 _Like a good little tool…_

There were only around thirty tables, so the killer-turned-server had finished within just a few minutes. He went back to Cathy, who was looking over a menu.

"Oh, done already? Good." She smiled. "Gray has just informed me of your illiteracy… so, how do you plan to take people's orders..?"

Bashfully, Zack scratched the back of his neck. "The 'ol man taught me how to read numbers this week… and there's a number to each order, so I _can_ take orders." His mind flashed back to his lessons with Gray, when they sat at the dining table at his house and reviewed with flash cards. It felt weird… something that a grown-adult wouldn't have to do.

But when was Zack ever normal..?

Unexpectedly, the door thrust open, and Zack could hear a chime ring, signalling someone's entrance. Cathy jumped a little, before putting a huge grin on her face.

"We've got our very first customer..!" She squealed, turning to Zack—who's golden eye began to twitch.

"Shut the fuck up." He snarled, visibly annoyed at her exuberance.

It was a couple that walked in—man and woman, and they approached the counter with euphoric smirks.

"Hello!" Cathy greeted them, beaming. "Welcome to the _aNGels of death cafe_! Table for two..?"

"Yes, please." The man said, wrapping an arm around his partner. Zack nearly gagged. They looked at each other with an emotion that the killer loathed— _love_. Of all love's forms, Isaac Foster despised _romance_ more than any other.

How could people just set themselves up to be used and abused like that..? Love wasn't real—people just wanted tools for themselves. Tools to fuck then throw away… _tools_ to discard like _trash_.

"Alright! Here, let my friend _Zack_ here show you two to a table!" Cathy said, handing Zack a menu and table number.

He hesitated a moment, looking between Catherine and the couple. "A-alright… c'mon."

 _I wonder which one of you dumbfucks is gettin' used here..?_

He awkwardly shuffled to a table for two, before sloppily tossing the menu and table number on the table. "There ya go, sit." He commanded gruffly. The couple shot him an unsure glance, before sitting down. Isaac stood there, watching them peer through the menu with a hand on his hip.

The couple nervously glanced at him when he showed no sign of leaving, before the man spoke up.

"U-um, there anything wrong..?" He croaked.

"No," Isaac replied plainly.

"It's just, ah… You're just _standing_ there…" The woman spoke up, voice meek.

"I'm waitin' for ya to decide on what ya want!" Zack barked. "If ya don't want me houndin' over ya, then hurry the fuck up!"

A hand abruptly grasped onto his shoulder, causing him to jolt. "Zack, let's give these people space to order, okay…?" Cathy urged, pulling him away from the couple. "I am so sorry for his behaviour—he has _issues_." She turned to them and grinned apologetically.

Zack learned that Cathy had quite the strength hidden in her skinny arms, as she managed to haul him away to the dish pit effortlessly.

"What are you doing..?! You're going to scare the customers!" Cathy screeched, eyes twitching.

"I was jus' waitin' for them to decide on what the fuck they wanted!" Zack replied back, screaming louder than Catherine.

"It's not normal to just stand in front of them like that! You have to leave them for a few moments to let them decide on what they want!" Cathy explained.

Isaac didn't like to be told that he wasn't normal, but since he had been told so all of his life, it was just something that he was used to.

"Fine." He replied shortly.

The rest of breakfast went surprisingly smoothly, as it was not too busy, it being their first day and all. Although, Zack did break a few—or eight plates… as well as smashing three mugs. But hey—that's just dishwashing. Shit gets slippery.

The young man despised cleaning up after others, though. It toke a lot of persuasion on Gray's side to finally convince him to do his job… But that didn't stop him from complaining.

Isaac Foster was many thing… but a fuckin' servant wasn't one of them. So when he had to assume his role of cleaning up people's dirty tables, he was pissed. It was actually eye-opening to witness how piggish people could be…

And how piggish _he_ was—given that he could relate to the messes that his customers left.

He'd have to pry wet napkins out of peoples cold coffee mugs, scrape off napkins that had become stuck to plates, and go fishing in someone's plate filled with leftover scraps and napkins for their sticky silverware… and actually a lot more.

The feeling was disgusting—that sticky feeling. Unlike blood, it was smellier and stickier.

Only four customers had walked out that morning (because of something Isaac did, whether it be cursing or intimidation), so all in all, it was a good first day.

Or, that was what Gray had said to Isaac after his shift.

The past week had been great for Rachel, perhaps the best week of her entire, miserable life.

Now that she had the _perfect_ parents and the _perfect_ puppy, her life had become perfect too. Her mother and father had not argued for a whole seven days, and they hadn't beaten Rachel, either. She had no bruises to cover up anymore.

Even so, there was one problem… Her parents—and puppy had begun to _stink_. Really bad.

Dead bodies had a tendency to rot, which was one of the downfalls of having dead parents. However, Rachel wouldn't have it any other way.

She knew fully well that her parents were dead, but they were better that way… Better dead than they were alive. They definitely couldn't scream or hurt each other any more, so that was great.

Rachel sat on the floor between their feet. She began to read an old favourite book of hers, finally content.

But then there was a knock on the door.

The young girl froze. It was the fourth time this week that they received a knock on the door, and each time Rachel wouldn't answer. She didn't want to be bothered by strangers, and figured that her parents wouldn't either. Perhaps if she didn't answer they would go away.

She held her breath, doing her best to stay absolutely silent. If they didn't hear any noise, then maybe they would believe that no one was home.

"Shh," she quietly hushed her puppy, who lay still in his box on the floor. "Don't bark—we must stay quiet…"

The puppy continued to stay silent… proving himself to be Mankind and Rachel's most loyal companion.

There were a few more raps on the door, noticeably louder than the first set. "Hey, answer the door..! We know that you're in there." The stranger called out from the other side.

More knocks. They had begun to bang on the door so loud that it shook the walls of the house. Rachel hoped they hadn't scared her puppy. "We're gonna knock the fuckin' door down if you don't open up, man." Another stranger bellowed. "You haven't showed up to work in a week..! What the fuck's up, man?!"

Uh oh.

The strangers at the door were policemen… and it was likely that they wouldn't take to her parent's new form… They wouldn't… _understand_.

The girl quickly stood from the ground, thinking of what to do. She couldn't let them take her parents away..! But, what could she even do to prevent that from happening..?

"One… Two… Three—" The policemen had begun to count, and Rachel knew she had to act fast.

"My dear, perfect parents… They're going to take you away from me." She spoke to them, gingerly pecking their bluish-tinted foreheads. "I love you… I've had the best week of my life."

She pet her puppy that lay in it's box. "I love you too… You're the perfect puppy… _My_ perfect puppy."

The crying girl stood up again, and toke one last glance at her parents. "Goodbye, my perfect parents… My perfect _family_ …"

The door cracked open, and the men stomped about with their heavy boots.

"Ugh, what's that fucking smell?!" The officers exclaimed disgustedly. "Ah—Rachel?!"

She looked at the officers, then at her parents.

"What the fuck..!?" Another cop with raven hair exclaimed, staring at her family in disgust.

"What in the world happened here!?" The cop asked Rachel, face distorted with fear. "Jesus fuckin' Christ..! Call a fuckin' ambulance… God…"

Rachel began to feel her eyes become hot, tears threatened to spill over her eyelids. For the first time in a while, she let them.

"My parents…" She cried, grasping the fabric of her shirt overtop her heart.

"Rachel, are you alright?" The officer asked, face filled with worry. Rachel widened her eyes, finally somewhat adjusted to the light. His face was… familiar to her.

"My family…" She lamented, shutting her eyes tight.

"God, this is fucked…" He muttered. "Why didn't you call the police earlier, Rachel?"

Rachel ignored his question and continued to cry.

"They're… they're all _stitched_ together… What the…" A young cop exclaimed. "H-his arm..! It's been replaced with a fucking stuffed animal's!"

"I'm gonna fucking vomit..!"

"Their eyes—they're made of glass..?!"

The police continued to project their discoveries of Rachel's parents augmentations. The young girl behind their f _ixing up_ Rachel didn't understand—she thought her parents were perfect, so why were they insulting them..? Ice began to freeze over her young heart, and her eyes had begun to lose their shine once again.

Soon enough, ambulance sirens rang through the streets, piercing Rachel's ears as she was whisked inside one.

Three weeks had passed since Rachel's perfect family was taken from her. After staying in the hospital for a few days for treatment (apparently she was malnourished), the officer—whose name was l _ieutenant Hoff_ —had told her ' _Good News._.!'

She would be taken to an orphanage where she would live the rest of her childhood in. Upon inspecting the adoption papers, Rachel discovered that it was an orphanage for _troubled_ children.

Rachel had come to the conclusion that there _really_ was something wrong with her.

" _Mental Facility_ or " _Looney Bin_ " was a more accurate name than " _Orphanage_ ". The building's walls were all a gleaming white, as well as the hard tiles that made up the flooring. The residents of the Orphanage appeared to be Zombies, mindlessly walking around with blank stares.

But Rachel supposed she wasn't actually that different from them.

Her room was extremely simple. It had just enough room for a single bed, fitted with pure white sheets and a white, cotton duvet, a white-painted plywood dresser that held an assortment of basic clothing, and an end table beside the bed.

Like the main rooms of the building, her room's walls were white, and the flooring consisted of cold, white tiles. Luckily, Rachel's room had come with a pair of white slippers, so that her feet would not get cold touching the tile flooring.

There was a window facing opposite of her bed, secured with iron bars. Rachel felt dreary looking out of it.

Two and a half weeks had finally passed by since she had arrived at the orphanage, and at long last, it was time for her to meet with a psychiatrist. There was a lot of children residing in the building, so Rachel could understand why it toke so long.

Tentatively, she shuffled along the floor in her pure white slippers, the walls throwing back the scuffing sound at Rachel and the lady who guided her to the psychiatrist's office.

"Dear Rachel, could you please refrain from scuffing your slippers on the floor? It's awfully noisy." The woman asked politely, turning her head back to look at Rachel.

The young girl didn't reply, but she began to pick up her feet as she walked.

"Ah, here we are—Doctor Dicken's office." The woman announced, opening the door for Rachel. She paused a moment before entering, gazing at the interior of the office.

"I'll just leave you to wait here," the lady said, softly shutting the door.

Rachel sat down on a comfortable leather chair, swinging her feet impatiently. She began to count in her head to pass the time.

 _One, Two, Thee, Four… Seventy, Seventy-One, Seventy-Two—_

Her counting was interrupted as the door swung open. Rachel turned her head back to see who had entered.

It was an average-sized man wearing a lab-coat. His hair was an olive-brown colour, and he wore glasses over his mis-match coloured eyes. His smile stretched into a wide grin, and he knelt down beside Rachel and extended a hand for her to shake.

"Why hello there, I'm Doctor Daniel Dickens! But you can call me Danny." He introduced himself, gazing deeply into her eyes. "What's your name?"

"Rachel… Gardner," The young girl replied, weakly shaking his hand. His hand was much larger than hers, thus enveloping it in his. He had a firm grip, but it was not painful… it was somehow gentle.

"Rachel… A truly beautiful name." Danny smiled. "A beautiful name to match such a beautiful girl… with such _gorgeous_ peepers…"

The doctor cleared his throat and stood up, making his way to his seat before sitting down.

"So, Rachel, how have you liked your stay here so far?" He asked, clasping his hands together on his desk. "Sorry it's taken this long for an appointment—I'm only here about three days a week and there are a lot of patients here."

She stared blankly at the doctor, refusing to answer. There was no point. His smile deepened, and he tilted his head farther forward, casting a shadow over his face.

"Rachel, why don't you answer me..? Are you angry?" He asked in a soft, kind voice.

His question was once again answered with silence. Daniel hummed to himself and jotted something down in a leather-bound notebook that he pulled out of his pocket, shoulders slightly quivering. He shoved it back into his pocket, and opened the spiral-bound notebook on his desk and jotted some words down on there before looking back up at Rachel.

"What could I do to get you to answer me, Rachel..? I'd like to know how you're feeling here." Danny asked, leaning towards her.

Rachel merely stared at him, before opening her mouth. "I'm sad."

"Sad?" Daniel repeated, voice warm and sympathetic. "Why are you sad, Rachel?"

"My family… They're all gone." She muttered, eyes hollow.

"Oh, Rachel… Did you see them die..?" Daniel asked. His forwardness surprised Rachel somewhat, yet she answered regardless.

"Yes," she replied.

Daniel sighed. Not necessarily an annoyed sigh, but more so a sigh of admiration.

"I see," He murmured, "I suppose you're just not in the mood to talk right now, Rachel…Are you tired..? I guess I'll just cut this session short so you can get some rest."

He rose from his chair and walked towards the door, gingerly pulling it open. Rachel sat up from her seat, too, and shuffled out of the door. Danny followed, walking beside her.

"I'll escort you to your room, Rachel." He offered.

They walked in silence, save for the few comments Daniel made about this or that. Thankfully, it didn't take long for them to reach her room. The doctor pulled open the door, and bid Rachel _Goodnight_ before closing it.

"I could have gazed into your beautiful peepers all day, Rachel… But I have some preparations to make as of right now…" Daniel whispered under his breath, hastily heading back to his office.

Rachel continued to stay silent during her weekly sessions with Danny, and each time, he would ask more complex questions.

" _Rachel, what happened the night of your parent's murder..?_ "

" _Do you like to sew, Rachel? We've found a lot of your stuffed animals in your room—each stuffy is an amalgamation of other stuffed animal's legs and arms… Did you take them apart and sew them back together?"_

" _Did you love your parents, Rachel?_ "

" _Did you kill your parents, Rachel..?_ "

Rachel shuffled into Daniel's office for her weekly appointment. During their session, Danny revealed some good news to the young girl.

"Rachel, the Orphanage will be welcoming a little puppy for the patients to play with! Isn't that lovely..?" Daniel exclaimed. Rachel's eyes lit up. "Ah—do you like dogs, Rachel? Your peepers lit up when I mentioned that we were getting one..! Oh, I forgot—you had a dog, didn't you?"

"Yes, I love animals… and yes, I had a puppy. I found him in a back alley near home…" Rachel said, smiling slightly.

"Hey, the new puppy should be here now, actually… would you like to come see him with me?" Daniel asked, slowly rising from his chair. Rachel stood up too, following the doctor out of the door. The walked to the courtyard, and there was more patients than usually stuffed in there.

"Hm, where is he..? Ah—over there..!" Daniel exclaimed, pointing towards an older woman holding a sleepy puppy in her arms. Rachel darted over to the puppy, leaving Danny behind her.

He reminded Rachel of her puppy.

Tentatively, the dead-eyed girl approached the woman and puppy, shoving past the other patients who gathered to look at the puppy.

"Oh, hello Rachel," The woman greeted her, stroking the puppy's ears. A young boy extended his arms to scratch the puppy's back. "Would you like to pet the puppy?"

Rachel nodded, slowly bringing her hand to the puppy's nose to sniff. It's eyes were half shut before, but reopened when it sensed Rachel's hand. He gave it a sniff, and stuck out his pink tongue to lick it.

"Wet," Rachel mused, smiling at the puppy. "He's so cute… What's his name?"

"Well, we haven't given him a name yet… Would you like to help, Rachel?" The old lady asked her, smiling Kindly.

"Sure," Rachel accepted her offer, humming to herself as she thought of a name. "How about… Roofus?"

The old woman grinned. "Roofus..? Sounds like a wonderful name!" She exclaimed.

"Can… Can I hold Roofus?" Rachel asked, mesmerized by Roofus.

"Sure," the lady passed the puppy to Rachel, who gingerly took him in her arms. She admired the puppy, holding him up to her face. Roofus's tail began to wag, and he gave Rachel a few sloppy kisses.

"Oh, Roofus, you're so cute… You're just like… my perfect puppy." She mused, holding the dog against her chest. "You're so cute I could just eat you up..!"

"I'm glad to see that you like the puppy, Rachel." Danny whispered in her ear, his hot breath sending tingles in her ears and spine. Rachel jumped a little, before looking behind her at the doctor. "Ah—sorry, did I startle you…? You're so mesmerized by that puppy… It's as if he's the only thing in your world."

"His name is Roofus," Rachel corrected the doctor. "He's the perfect puppy…"

"Rachel, it's now _Jeffrey's_ turn to hold Roofus," The old woman told her, holding her arms out to receive Roofus. Rachel took a step back, tightening her grip on the puppy.

"But… I don't want to share him, I want him to be _mine_ , _my_ perfect puppy…" Rachel cried.

"Rachel, give Roofus to me. He's not your puppy, he's _everyone's_ puppy. You'll get to play with him later, too." The old lady said, slipping her hands around the puppy.

Roofus and Rachel began to whine, causing the old woman to chuckle. "See—he likes you. Just let these other kids visit with him and then he'll probably come looking for you." She reassured the young girl.

Reluctantly, Rachel let the woman take Roofus. "Okay,"

Doctor Daniel rested his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. "It's she said, Rachel, the puppy— _Roofus_ , will most likely come to see you when he's done visiting with everyone. After all, you are the most special girl out of all of them.."

"Really..?" Rachel asked, looking up at Danny curiously.

The Doctor hummed, and gave her a warm grin. "Yes… you see, you have the most _gorgeous_ peepers I've ever seen… That makes you very special."

Over the past two weeks, Rachel spent all of her free time playing with Roofus. He was usually outside in the courtyard, and Rachel snuggled with him, played catch and tug-of-war with him. Sometimes, Rachel would sit on a bench with Roofus curled up beside her as she stitched. The staff at the Orphanage would always comment on how much Rachel loved Roofus and how much Roofus adored Rachel back, always causing the young girl to smile.

Roofus made her feel… _Happy_. Rachel had felt so depressed after her family was taken away from her, but having Roofus was like having her puppy back, which at least helped her feel a little better.

But, there came a problem.

Another girl, a tall, lanky redhead had taken a likeliness to Roofus. Well, to be fair, many did. But this girl was different.

Roofus liked her back.

Usually the puppy ignored all of the other patients in favour of Rachel, but he had taken a liking to this girl. But Rachel was determined to make Roofus hers and hers alone… She wanted to call him _her own_.

She hastily shuffled over to the courtyard to visit Roofus after breakfast, and her heart began to pound angrily when she saw _her_ there.

The lanky redhead was searching for Roofus as well, and upon spotting him, they both called him over at the same time. Roofus's ears perked up, and he jumped around to face the both of them. He hesitated a moment, but began running towards them.

"Come here!" Rachel beckoned along with the redhead. Rachel thought that Roofus would come to her, but he instead went to the redhead.

Rachel pouted before storming off from the courtyard, heart pounding from betrayal and frusteration.

Her puppy had _betrayed_ her… It seems like things really never work out for her…

She stomped to her room, pacing around, huffing with anger.

 _He should be mine… How could he… Betray me..? I guess he's not really my puppy after all…_

"I guess…." Rachel murmured to herself, staring out of the barred window. "I'll have to _make him mine_."

The girl's eyes clouded over with red, and she walked over to her dresser to pull out her sewing kit from the top drawer. Danny had entrusted her with her old sewing kit after she had expressed her love for sewing. And in it… should be…

Ah—the scissors. Perfect.

Rachel walked back over to the courtyard, hiding the scissors in the waistbands of her black shorts. It seemed like Roofus was still playing with the redhead… But that wouldn't be a problem, Rachel supposed.

The young blonde stepped over to the where the red headed girl and her puppy were playing, and beckoned to Roofus. He excitedly ran over to her, and began to lick her fingers. Rachel scooped him up in her arms, stealing him away from the lanky girl.

"Hey—where are you taking Roofus..?" She asked, standing up. Rachel ignored her and quickened her pace towards her room.

Stepping inside, she could feel Roofus squirm in her arms as she removed one hand that was supporting him and she shut and locked the door. Rachel let the puppy go on the floor, and grasped for her scissors.

"I'm so tired of sharing you with others, Roofus… I have to make you _mine_." She explained, kneeling down and petting the pup.

"Don't worry, I'll make you even more perfect than you are already, Roofus," She promised, pushing him over onto his back and forcefully pinning the dog down. He began to whine and struggle, but before he could escape, Rachel raised her arm and thrust her scissors into Roofus's belly.

As the metal punctured his stomach Roofus let out a particularly loud yelp, and blood began to gush out of the gash. Rachel pulled the scissors out, then thrust them back in several times, waiting for his yelping to subside.

Roofus was finally rendered silent, and his vital fluids were spilling out, staining the pure-white tile floor, as well as Rachel's white cardigan. She threw the scissors on the ground, surveying her puppy.

"There, now I can make you mine," Rachel declared, reaching for her sewing kit along the floor. "My _perfect_ puppy…"

"How about we have a more… in-depth talk for our session today, Rachel..?" Danny asked, smiling calmly at her.

Rachel didn't answer. She sat with her eyes sealed shut, moping over Roofus. Like her family, they had taken Roofus away from her after she fixed him, causing the girl to recline into another depression.

"Don't look so upset—there's no reason to feel afraid… I won't ever be mad at you, Rachel." Daniel promised, leaning in towards her. "Hm… I've got an idea, how about I tell you a little about myself for a change..? Perhaps then you'll feel like opening up..?"

Rachel's eyes slowly opened, and she looked at the Doctor. "Aha! You looked at me!" He exclaimed. "It's been a while, you seemed to have closed up after the _incident_ … Don't worry—we won't talk about that until you're ready."

Danny continued to admire her eyes for a moment longer, a look of ecstasy on his face. "Ah, Rachel…. You're peepers are so beautiful…"

Rachel silently stared at Daniel, her visage lacking emotion. The doctor simply span around in his chair, scanning the room as if he would find a conversation lurking in a corner. He sighed, fumbling with a pen that lay on his desk.

"Well… Where should I start..? Oh—one of my eyes is made of glass," Daniel began, shifting his eyes upward as if searching for something to talk about. "You see, I was born without an eye. My mother worried herself sick about it all of my childhood… She had such worrisome, dark peepers…They were such tranquil peepers… Yet, as a child, my reflection was never cast in her eyes for too long."

Daniel's face toke on soft look as he relived his childhood. "Even so, I still loved my mother—her peepers were so precious… Rachel, did you hate your parents..?"

Rachel slowly blinked, mulling over the question. "…No."

They may have been the worst parents out there, but to Rachel, they were normal. They say ignorance is bliss… and perhaps the young girl's ignorance of what a normal, acceptable family was helped her to persevere. Yet, her ignorance had also been her bane…

"Then why…" Daniel began once again leaning towards Rachel. "Why did you cut and sew them up..?"

It's not as if he hadn't asked that question before, but it still caused Rachel's heart to stir with a tinge of doubt. T _hat's not normal_ … the voice inside her head rung. Rachel's bane… she was just simply…

Fucked up.

"Because…" Rachel began, closing her eyes once again. Daniel shifted in his seat, seemingly excited to hear her answer.

"—I wanted a family." She answered simply, smiling,

A family… like the ones she would often dream about. Her mother and father would love each other—they would be each other's _soulmates_. Mom wouldn't be miserable anymore, Dad wouldn't go out and drink his sorrows away, filling the empty holes of his heart with booze and whores.

Rachel—she'd be their perfect daughter. She would have friends, she would smile, and most importantly… she would be loved by her parents… _Desired_.

"I see… How did you come to feel this way..?" Daniel asked, slowly reaching for his notebook.

"How..?" She asked, brows furrowing slightly. "That's… a good question."

"Hey—didn't you come across your puppy in an alleyway near you house..?" Daniel recalled.

Rachel paused a moment, reflecting on that day… The day when everything changed. On one end, she had finally received a _family_ … But, that night… She had lost herself to psychosis.

And she wasn't entirely against what she had done.

The leather chair squeaked as Rachel shifted about, mulling over the events of that night—trying desperately to reassemble the jumbled thoughts in her mind. For some reason unknown to her, she had unconsciously blocked out the memory from her brain. However, whenever she had thought hard enough, the pieces began to fit together… Her story completing.

"Oh, yes… He was so tiny and cute… But, so terribly fragile. I wanted to keep him so bad, but I'd have just gotten in trouble if I took him home without asking my parents… So I left him there to ask." Rachel explained. "But when I walked inside, they were fighting… and neither of them would listen to me… So I left again to visit the puppy."

Rachel began to frown, clasping her hands together at her lap. Now was when the bad memories started to plague her.

"But when I arrived, he was very weak—likely to keel over at any moment. I reached my hand out to pet him, but then… It bit me." She recollected. "Then… what happened next—it's a little… _hazy_.. As if I had fallen asleep. When I _came_ _to_ , I was in my room _fixing_ the puppy. But then… Dad came in and saw… Gosh… they were fighting so loud."

"What were they fighting about, Rachel..?" Daniel asked, hastily jotting some notes down.

"About… me." She answered, telling Danny of how they thought that Rachel wasn't _normal_. "I could hear them screaming from my room upstairs—they were in the kitchen. Glass or ceramic was shattering, and there was a lot of banging… then, my mother screamed—louder than she ever had before."

Rachel's brows aggressively furrowed, creating small lines between them. "I was… so worried. So I went down to the kitchen to check what had happened… As I stood at the door, I could feel something was… _wrong_ … And I vividly remember what I saw past that door…" Rachel revealed with a shudder.

"Dad was overtop of Mom… stabbing her _over and over and over_ … I still remember the sound of the knife piercing her flesh—the _ooze_ of her blood… But then, Dad started to come after me—saying that _I_ needed to die, too… I ran away from him, heading towards my room…"

"Why didn't you run out the front door, Rachel..?" Danny inquired.

"My puppy… I had to see if my puppy was okay." She murmured. "But then, before I went up the stairs… I recalled that mom had hidden a gun in the drawer before them. So, I… I toke it with me. After I had ran into my room and checked on the puppy, Dad burst through the door."

Rachel was silent for a moment, then Daniel prompted her to continue. But… was it really okay for her to tell him..?

"Then I shot him."

Four shots to the chest. _Bang. Bang. Bang—Bang..!_ The gun in her hand… it gave her this magnificent power… Once she had succumbed to the _veil of red_ , there was no way that she could have restrained herself. One shot was not enough.

One shot was not enough to purge her father of his _Impurity_.

"But then, why did you sew them up…?" Daniel asked, shooting her a curious glance.

Has she ever asked herself the same thing..? Sewing them just came naturally—as if that was the _only_ thing she could have done.

How else would she make her Perfect Family..?

"Well… Because I had to make them _perfect_ … My perfect parents. It felt good to fix that puppy—to make him mine, so I figured… I could do the same to my parents." Rachel justified. "Afterwards, I fixed their wounds so that they wouldn't be hurt anymore… Then I gave mom a smile, so that she would finally be happy. A while later, I sewed Mom and Dad to each other—so that they would get along. Finally, I replaced Dad's bad arm with a stuffy's, then substituted their yucky eyes with nicer ones. Then… they had become my perfect Mom and Dad…"

"All three of us played all day long with our puppy—It was wonderful." Rachel exclaimed, recalling that blissful week. But then, her eyes suddenly darkened.

"But then… the police took them away from me—I was so sad…"

"I… I understand, Rachel. I see where you're coming from…" Daniel reassured her. "Rachel… you killed Roofus as well, right.?"

"…Yes."

"Why did you want to do that..? I thought you adored that pup?"

Oh, she did… he was _perfect_ even when he was alive. But… there was just one problem…

"That's right… I really loved him." Rachel admitted. "But… It wasn't meant to be…"

Daniel shifted in his chair, causing it to squeak a little. "Wasn't meant to be, huh?" He asked, a look of empathy on his face.

"Yeah, there was something that I wanted… I wanted something to call my own. But, for some reason… things never play out like they should." She lamented.

Roofus was not hers.

"…Never play out like they should, huh…" Daniel repeated, looking as if he had resonated with Rachel.

The young girl nodded her head, solemnly staring at the ground.

"So… You'd like something to call your own, Rachel..? Daniel murmured dreamily. Rachel raised her eyes to meet his, looking questionably at the doctor.

Daniel stood up, moving around his desk towards Rachel. Kneeling on the ground beside her, he placed his hand on her shoulder, giving her a sweet grin.

"Rachel, my mother took her own life… what killed her—was my eye. Your peepers… they remind me so much of my mothers when she was hanging from the ceiling…" He whispered into her ear, his hot breath once again sending chills down her spine.

 _So… the doctor brought misery down upon others, too…_

"Dark… Tranquill… And most of all— _beautiful_ …" he reminisced, gripping her shoulder tighter. "Rachel, I… I'm in love with your peepers… I hope their dark glow sparkles for eternity…"

"That steadfast glow—it will grant you all of your wishes in this world…" Daniel stroked her cheek with his free hand, nearly grazing her eyes. "Oh, Rachel… Let me live beside those peepers for all eternity..!"

Daniel sat on the edge of his plush, leather chair. On his recently emptied desk, there sat two stacks of papers—one was his letter of resignation. The other, his—well, _Rachel's_ adoption papers.

The doctor fumbled with his favourite ball-point pen in his impatient right hand. Oh, he wished that he could hand in his letter of resignation… However, for his and Rachel's sake, he had to continue.

 _Oh well_ … As long as he was able to stare into her eyes for just a little while, he would be okay. Just basking in her presence for just a little while was sufficient enough to push away the loneliness and emptiness that he felt.

The police had come to him to ask of the girl's recollections, and if… If she was the one who _did_ it. _Wow_ , Daniel sure had to work hard to ensure Rachel's innocence.

It was natural assume Rachel's guilt—and it was correct… well, partially correct. Rachel _had_ shot her father… However, that was in self-defence. However… Persuading the police to disregard Rachel's _sewing up her parents_ was tricky…

Thankfully, the young girl had told Daniel of her parent's mistreatment and abuse—that made it way easier to persuade the pigs.

Humans were quite susceptible to feelings of pity… When Daniel had recounted Rachel's horrible upbringing, they had felt a spot of… _pity_ for her. Instead of charging her with any charges, like _not calling the police_ , and _tampering with their bodies_ , they had simply excused them—declaring that those acts were under the influence of psychosis.

Now, Rachel Gardner's sentence was therapy sessions and taking drugs to attempt to cure her.

Now, this was where the problem arose. Daniel wanted to quit his job. There was no need to counsel all of the dead-eyed patients anymore, as he had found the eyes he'd been searching for his whole life… Rachel Gardener's.

But he had to keep the job. The young girl was required to go to therapy, and if Daniel wasn't her therapist, things could go wrong.

So, he decided to keep his job… for Rachel's sake. To ensure that no one would take his reason to live away from him. But that caused another problem.

If Daniel were to adopt Rachel under his own name, then he would not be able to be her counsellor… Once again sticking a fork in his plan. However—and luckily for him, Danny knew someone who would comply with his plan… someone who would adopt Rachel under his name and simply give her to the doctor.

That man was Reverend Abraham Gray.

It took a little persuasion, but the Reverend complied. His adoption papers now sat in Daniel's hands, where he would forward them to Social Services.

Every problem had a solution, and Daniel Dickens had found the best possible solution…

Rachel stood in the lobby of Social Services with an old suitcase at her feet, escorted by a Social Worker. Her _adopter_ had just came in, and shook the hands with the Worker.

"This will be your new guardian, Rachel!" The social worker exclaimed, bending over to reach Rachel's eyes. "He is the most respected man in town—Reverend Abraham Gray!"

She already knew that. Doctor Daniel had already told her the plan. She was to be adopted by the Reverend but she would live with Danny. That way, he could still be her psychiatrist… but she " _musn't tell anyone—It's a super-important secret_ …"

"Hello, Rachel Gardener," the Reverend greeted, bending down to shake her small hand.

He was an awfully tall man—imposing… His eyes were _blank_. Rachel could not find his iris or pupil… Was he blind..?

"I am Reverend Abraham Gray—oh, but you already knew that…" He spoke with a soft voice in juxtaposition to his intimidation appearance. "It is a pleasure to be adopting you."

Rachel was silent for a moment, and the Reverend gave her hand a gentle squeeze—as if to reassure her. "It is a pleasure to meet you, sir, and thank you… for adopting me."

"Well, shall we go to your new home..?" The Social Worker suggested excitedly, clasping her fat hands together.

Rachel hopped into the Social Worker's car, small suitcase beside her, while Gray took his own— _standard procedure_ to ensure her safety, she supposed. It was a long drive, and Rachel leaned her head against the glass, peering out at the street.

It had been awhile since she had walked out into the street as a _normal_ person… she wondered if she would ever do that again..?

Daniel had reassured her countless times that her guilt had been casted aside—that she could live life as a normal girl…

As long as she would never leave his side.

The car came to a slow stop, and Rachel lifted her head from the window, shaking it as if it would clear her mind from thought.

"We're finally home, Rachel..!" The woman exclaimed, turning her head to look back at Rachel.

 _Home_ … But this wasn't her home—that was supposed to be with Doctor Danny. Yet… Rachel didn't believe that that would feel like home, either.

To the young girl, ' _home_ ' meant ' _family_ '… And hers was taken away long ago… Or so it seemed. How long had passed since then, anyways..? Rachel had lost track of time in that Orphanage… But it was currently spring now.

Had a whole year passed since then..?

Rachel's door opened abruptly, slightly startling her. "Come out now, darling… It's time to see your new home..!" The Social worker exclaimed.

Rachel climbed out of the car, waiting for the woman to lead her into the house.

It was modest, as a man of the cloth's home should be. Like most others, Gray lived in a simple home in a simple neighbourhood, turning away the temptation of a luxurious house on the hills.

The Social Worker rapped on the door, before opening it.

"Welcome," Gray greeted from the other side. "Please come in."

Tentatively, Rachel stepped into the house, surveying her surroundings. Like the exterior, the interior was simple. They had walked into the living room, a rather small but open space with a couch, a bookshelf, and an old television.

The dining room was simply an open extension to the living room, consisting of a medium-sized wooden table holding four seats. An archway lead to the kitchen—which was quite small.

"And where should our Rachel be staying..?" The woman asked, placing a gentle hand on Rachel's shoulder.

"Ah, here—this way." Gray said, leading them to a bedroom down the hall from the living room. They opened the door to find a small room containing a single bed, a bedside table, and a closet. The Social Worker nodded approvingly at the room, and went to open the closet.

"A-ah, there's things already in here.." She exclaimed.

Rachel peered inside, finding a rather large guitar case—which might actually be for a bass or something, and a few hoodies and jeans hung up on the hangers.

"My apologies… My _son_ had visited for a few days, and he forgot some of his things here… I called him earlier and he said that he would come to collect his things this evening." Gray explained, clasping his hands together.

"Oh, I see," The Social Worker nodded. "Wait, I wasn't aware that you had a son, Reverend?"

"It's… a long story, he's not really my _son_ , just a young man that I have helped out. He's grown very dear to my heart." Gray said, smiling gently.

"Oh, how touching..! You really are a kind man, Reverend Gray." The Social Worker complimented, grinning widely.

Gray shook his head. "I am but God's humble servant, ma'am."

They had checked out the rest of the rooms, before the woman kneeled before Rachel, taking her hands in hers.

"Do you like your new home, Rachel..?"

 _This isn't my new home…_ "Yes," She answered, forcing a small smile.

And with that, the Social Worker left, and Rachel was left in the house with the Reverend.

"So, Daniel requested I take you to him—right now, he's working a shift at my cafe." Gray announced, walking towards the door. "Shall we go..?"

"Ah, alright." Rachel said, sitting up as well, grabbing onto her suitcase. It seemed as if the Reverend had wanted to get her out of the house as soon as possible.

Rachel did not particularly care, anyway.

Water crept up to Isaac's biceps, wetting even his stomach. The _dish pit_ was a scary place… dishes were strewn _everywhere_ , all coated with something disgusting and sticky. Since Zack sucked with customer service, he was usually cast into the dish pit to wash dishes while the cafe wasn't too busy.

Although he hated handling the wet, gross shit, he preferred it over dealing with shitty people. In his time at Gray's cafe, he hadn't improved too much. His anger and recklessness ( _well, more like clumsiness_ ) prevented him from being the model employee. Zack would often get scolded for mistreating a customer, or for swearing on the floor, or for breaking tons of dishes… and a _lot_ more.

However, he wasn't entirely useless when it came to washing dishes. Zack was better with handling yucky things than Cathy or Danny… Only the Lord knew what kind of shit he had to do in the past… and it wasn't pretty.

Even so, Zack had improved drastically in the customer service department… and had become better with controlling his urges to kill. It was nice—definitely threw the pigs off of his trail once he had become less _active_.

Now, the only killing he would do would be at the cafe (well, mostly).

Zack wasn't sure _how_ the Reverend chose his sacrifices, but he didn't really care either way. He just liked to kill them, plain and simple. Gray had chosen the first sacrifice a week after Isaac had begun working there—and he had the honours. Now, there was a sacrifice every two days… So Zack was plenty satisfied.

"Zack, I need you over here!" Danny beckoned.

With a sigh of annoyance, Zack threw the dishes he was rinsing on the rack and quickly slid them in the washer so that they'd be finished by the time he got back. He sauntered over to the counter, and checked in with Danny.

"I need you to make me two mango smoothies for the couple over… _there_." Daniel commanded while ringing in a customer.

Zack grunted—his way of saying ' _okay_ ', and got to work.

Smoothies were a pain in the ass to make. Well, sometimes they were fun, but more often than not, they were simply just a pain. They took a while—making sure the consistency was good, and that it was sweet enough and all that shit. But sometimes, it was just fun to _create_ something.

Zack laughed to himself. _Wow_ … He'd never imagine himself thinking _that_.

Within a couple minutes, he'd whipped up the two smoothies, pouring them into two tall glasses, throwing a straw in each, and took them out to the customers.

"Here ya go," He muttered casually, setting them down on the table.

They thanked him, to which Zack forced them a quick smile. _Ugh_ , he hated having to do that. But as Gray told him, when you smiled at people, they were more likely to give you a tip. And boy, did Zack enjoy having money.

It was something he'd never had before, living out on the streets. Now, he could buy whatever the fuck he wanted… It felt _amazing_.

He still lived at Gray's place—on the couch (and not in the spare room, because he preferred to be close to the television and snacks in the kitchen), but he had plans to save up and start renting his _own_ place.

Isaac Foster had never thought himself the type to create a _normal, typical_ life for himself… but now, it was something he actually _wanted_. It was as if living in Gray's house had domesticated him—like taking in a feral cat.

Yet, it'd be awhile before Zack finally got his own place, because he just loved to spend his money. He now owned a collection of snazzy-looking blades—including a _scythe_. A f _ucking scythe_.

 _Tits on Christ_ it was fun to kill people with that thing.

"Ah, Rachel, Gray..!" He heard Daniel exclaim, rushing over to the Reverend. " _Rachel..?' Huh, didn't think that twerp had a girl_. Isaac peered over to the object of Danny's attention, and then his heart stopped.

It was that _baby doll_

Isaac rushed over to the doll, who looked upon him with dead, hollowed eyes. "It's _you_..! The fuckin' bitch who lied to me!"

The young girl's brows furrowed slightly. "…I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean."

"What are you talking about, Zack?!" Danny screeched, stepping between the killer and Rachel.

"That _bitch_ pretended to want me to kill her just so that I wouldn't wanna do it! She lied—said she wasn't fuckin' scared, to try 'an get on my good side!" Isaac screeched.

Some of the customers looked up from their tables with concerned faces.

"Isaac, you're making a scene—"

"I wasn't lying, sir. I wanted to you to kill me. I don't know why you came to the conclusion that I was lying," Rachel said, interrupting Gray.

"Why the _fuck_ haven't I ever heard of this?!" Danny howled, grasping Rachel firmly on the shoulder.

Isaac's blood began to boil, and he could feel the all-too-familiar veil of red being cast over his eyes. He'd waited too long to find this girl—it was as if she'd vanished off of the earth.

"Shut up!" Zack yelled at Daniel, shoving him away from Rachel, and grasping onto her shoulders instead. "Still want me to kill ya, bitch? 'Cuz I wanna! You made me so fuckin' mad, I hate liars! Don't tell me you were lyin'—I don't believe it."

Rachel didn't squirm or flinch under his tight grasp like he expected her to. Instead, she looked calmly up at him with her hollow, emotionless eyes.

"I told you—I wasn't lying." Rachel insisted. "I… I still wouldn't mind dying, I guess."

"Rachel—how could you say that?" Danny exclaimed, his face contorting with hurt.

Zack let out an exasperated sigh. "Yer still as creepy and boring as before..!" He was about to throttle her delicate neck before Gray layed a hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly pushing him away from Rachel.

"Stop. You're scaring the customers," the Reverend intervened.

"Fuck it..! I'm leaving. I'm too fuckin' pissed to fuck around in this shithole." Zack barked, stomping off.

 _That… bitch_. Why was she so… _boring_ …?

Doctor Danny knelt down beside Rachel, gingerly grasping her arms. "Rachel, what happened between you and that _monster_..?"

 _Well_ , she'd begged him to kill her, and he puked. But was all of that… a whole year ago..?

Rachel told Danny of their _meeting_ last year, and he frowned.

"Oh Rachel… Why did you want to die..?" He asked, a sympathetic frown on his face.

"Well," she though, recounting her broken family. "I wasn't happy… But, I didn't want to kill myself."

"Why not..?"

Rachel had sometimes attended church with her parents when she was younger—when they were more of a _family_. Since then, she had tried to live her life according to the Bible. After all, she wanted to go to Heaven, and be loved by God.

"Because suicide is a sin," she answered simply.

"Are you… happy now..? Do you still want to die, Rachel..?" Danny asked, furrowing his brows.


End file.
